


What It Is We've Done

by irisbleufic



Series: Girl In the War [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Cemetery, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Family, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Fugitives, Gotham City Police Department, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, Injury Recovery, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Making Jim Gordon Suffer, Mental Health Issues, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Murder Husbands, New Lovers, New Relationship, POV Edward Nygma, POV Oswald Cobblepot, Possessive Oswald Cobblepot, Psychopaths In Love, Revenge, Riddles, Season 2 AU, Season/Series 02, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: “So you got engaged without telling the gang?” Zsasz asked wryly. “I love a wedding, you know me.”“Rings have yet to be acquired,” replied Oswald, with acerbic satisfaction, “but yes. Date TBA.”“Will you let your old man live to see it?” Zsasz pressed on. “That's just courtesy. I can off him after.”“Gabe, are we paying him for his conversation or for his marksmanship?” Oswald asked disdainfully.Zsasz put both of his gloved hands in the air and didn't say another word until they'd reached the docks.





	1. Chapter 1

As Edward shivered awake, instinctively curling tighter around Oswald, his innate sense of their environment told him two things. First, the heating had kicked off since the two of them had risen to check and change Oswald's bandages around five in the morning, as well as engage in an unexpected dalliance involving the kitchen counter. Second, he'd failed to set his alarm for seven o'clock.

“Crud,” Edward muttered into Oswald's mussed, product-stiff hair. “I need to write my resignation.”

Oswald, not quite fully awake, huffed into the pillow and clutched Edward's arm around his middle.

“You're quitting on short notice,” he mumbled, yawning. “Who really cares if you follow protocol.”

“Jim and Harvey know you're here, and Jim, in the very least, knows we're...involved,” Edward sighed. “They won't tell Barnes, because you've got blackmail leverage against both of them. But I don't have that luxury. I should stick to propriety up till the last second I march out of there.”

“You said you were going to drop it in the mail,” said Oswald, concerned. He squirmed around in Edward's embrace until they faced each other, wincing at the fact he was now lying on his bandaged side. They hadn't bothered to re-dress after falling back into bed, and his skin simmered against Edward's with low-grade fever. “You're not going back there, Ed. For both our sakes.”

Edward rolled Oswald onto his back so he wouldn't be in pain, keeping his weight evenly distributed.

“I was thinking about this after you sent Jim away last night,” he said, distracted for a moment by the glint of Oswald's eyes. “Barnes will take more kindly to my resignation if I go to the trouble of delivering it. And Lee's suspicion will continue to fade.”

“You would subject yourself to ridicule?” Oswald asked, stroking Edward's cheek. “I had hoped...”

“Three times,” Edward reminded him, surrendering to Oswald's kiss, thrilled at the reassurance that Oswald wanted him so much. “Three _times_ since you got home. I can't, I...” He kissed Oswald's neck, frustrated at his lack of physical response. “I'm distracted.”

Oswald trembled under him, already hard against Edward's thigh. It was remarkable that he had any libido to speak of after so much strain on his fraught healing process in the past twenty-four hours. Oswald's exceptional resilience continued to astound Edward beyond words.

“What was it you said about endorphins and painkillers?” he said, petulant, but his tone was teasing.

Edward shifted to lie against Oswald's good side, nestling into the curve of Oswald's arm. He slid his left hand between Oswald's legs, grateful for a measure of ambidexterity in tasks that weren't writing. Having the freedom to touch him like this was exhilarating.

“If I get you off,” he breathed in Oswald's ear, stroking him tenderly, “will you let me go shower?”

With a breathy moan, Oswald closed his eyes, hips jerking in response to Edward's insistent touch.

“You don't have to—to do that, I would've—” Oswald swallowed the next words, his breath shallow.

“The endorphins _will_ help,” Edward promised, nuzzling Oswald's jaw. “And I...want you to...”

“Ed, _wait_ ,” Oswald panted, trying desperately to turn and press against him. “What...”

“I want to please you,” said Edward, his cheeks burning, not quite daring enough to say something filthy. He gave the tip of Oswald's erection a few more light, quick twists, just the way he knew Oswald liked, before letting go of him. He rolled onto Oswald, pinning both of Oswald's wrists against the pillow so he wouldn't strain his shoulder again. “I want you to come for me,” he whispered.

Oswald whimpered and dug his sharp toenails into Edward's calves, too close for coherent response.

“I'm—I'm going to make sure Jim knows who you belong to,” Edward faltered, nipping Oswald's throat, rocking against him. The letter seemed less important, suddenly, than attending to Oswald. “I'm not going to let him forget what he saw, Oswald, not a chance in—”

“You'd better,” Oswald hissed, yanking his hands free of Edward's grasp, clutching Edward's hips.

That, _that_ was what Edward had been missing, Oswald's fret and fire. He was as aroused as Oswald now, shaking, and he couldn't fathom how he was supposed to improve his stamina in the face of it. He gave up on resistance, coming with a choked groan.

Even delirious with fever and the onset of his own climax, Oswald held Edward through his orgasm. He murmured soothingly as soon as he could breathe again, reassuring Edward that everything would be fine. Hearing the words _I would go with you if I could_ wrung a whimper from him.

“Now I really need a shower,” Edward lamented, too drained to do anything but cling to Oswald.

“I need some more sleep,” Oswald replied. “And you're getting heavy. I need you to move, my love.” He shook Edward gently by the shoulders, easing him to one side when he willingly complied.

Edward pushed the covers back and sat up, snagging the wipes off the trolley so he could clean them.

Oswald watched him with half-lidded, adoring eyes, and Edward couldn't help but wonder how any of the events of the past week or so could even be _real_. He checked Oswald's bandages, which had suffered slight damage thanks to their enthusiasm. He cut away the stained segment and used surgical tape to secure the loose ends. Oswald's endearment made Edward's chest ache.

“Your temp's up again,” Edward cautioned, caressing Oswald's cheek. “Stay in bed while I'm gone.”

“Four times in eight hours,” said Oswald, smug in spite of how exhausted he was. “Is that a record?”

“Doubtful,” Edward replied, thinking of half a dozen people around the precinct who had them beat.

Oswald's sleepy gaze tracked Edward's movement as he passed the nightstand, lingering on something.

“What are those for?” he asked, indicating the homeopathic tinctures with a hesitant wave of his hand.

“Anxiety, depression, insomnia, you name it,” said Edward, dismissively, rummaging in his top drawer for socks and underthings. “As you can imagine, they mostly don't work, but I had some benefit from the placebo effect for a while. Or it's possible they _did_ work and I formed resistance.”

“Edward,” said Oswald, slowly, as if processing this information for the first time, “don't go. Please.”

“I have to do this,” Edward insisted, already halfway to the bathroom. “For both of us. For myself.”

Oswald made a helpless sound, and Edward lingered to watch him roll away so his back was turned.

Once he'd finished his shower, Edward emerged half-dressed to find that Oswald had fallen asleep. He wanted to crawl back into bed, envelop him and beg forgiveness, forget the sordid business of dragging out his typewriter in lieu of the work laptop he'd shortly have to relinquish. But he stubbornly pressed on, opting for the best suit jacket he owned instead of a cardigan.

Recalling Oswald's affectionately-admitted disdain for his tie clip, Edward retrieved the pin from Oswald's clothing interspersed with his own on the floor. Platinum-set onyx and charoite—twin cabochons, an obvious antique, nothing so telling as the umbrellas embroidered at Oswald's shirt-cuffs. He affixed it to his tie, and then gathered up the remainder of their scattered garments. 

In the end, Oswald slept through the entirety of Edward's fussy tidying and the clacking of heavy keys.

Edward sealed the completed letter in an envelope, tucking it inside his coat. He stood next to the bed while he pulled on the gloves he'd loaned Oswald the night before, smoothing Oswald's hair back from his worryingly damp forehead. If Edward didn't steal more Keflex from the lab...

He pushed the thought aside and set a hand on Oswald's sternum, focusing on his steady heartbeat.

“Had by few, treasured by all,” Edward murmured. “Inside or outside, I make men fall. What am I?”

 _Sleeping Beauty will keep until you return_ , his mirror-voice sneered. _You're pathetic._

Edward turned away quickly and made for the door, snatching his keys as he made a hasty departure.

The drive was less than pleasant, not least because Edward was keenly aware of the blanket-covered bloodstain still gracing his back seat. Dried blood had as distinct an odor as any bodily fluid, even in trace amounts. Edward had been surprised to learn that not everyone could detect it.

Arriving at his destination ought to have been a relief, but the discovery that Detective Bullock's car now occupied his habitual parking spot was enough to agitate him further. He drove around the block a few more times and eventually gave up, pulling into the alley like he'd seen Jim do.

“G'morning to you, too, Ed,” said Alvarez, as Edward breezed by him without so much as a glance.

“As if I have _time_ to pretend I care,” Edward seethed under his breath, bypassing the holding cells. He could tell that a handful of the other officers on the main floor were staring at him, too—not only was he uncharacteristically late, but he was no longer bothered with the simulacrum of social nicety, either. He dashed up the right-hand staircase and directly to the captain's office door.

“Mr. Nygma,” said Barnes, glancing up from some tedious-looking paperwork. “What's the rush?”

“Only this, and to offer an apology,” said Edward, withdrawing the envelope from his coat. “Sir.”

Barnes took the letter and opened it, eyes fixed on Edward's in puzzlement. “Is something wrong?”

“Please just read it,” Edward said, twisting his gloved fingers together in front of him. “It's all there.”

Barnes's eyebrows inched higher and higher as he scanned the typewritten page. “You're quitting?”

“Resignation isn't what I'd call quitting, but the gist of it is that I'm leaving, yes,” Edward allowed.

“What happened to two weeks' notice?” Barnes asked, tossing the paper down on his desk. “And why'd you bring this to me instead of Dr. Thompkins? She could've relayed the message.”

“Because I respect you, sir,” Edward said, forcing the words past his teeth. He needed to own the lie.

Barnes nodded reluctantly, making an indifferent gesture. “I guess she'll be on her own training your replacement,” he said. “While I don't always understand your methods, you're damn good at your job.”

Edward took the letter awkwardly away from him, refolding it. “Thanks. I'll take it to her if you like.”

Sighing, Barnes nodded and waved him out, refocusing on his task. “Best of luck with...grad school? A lab-tech job at Gotham General? You didn't really explain what this exciting new opportunity of yours is.”

“It's more like freelance,” Edward said, encouraged by the brevity and relative ease of the encounter. He rushed out of Barnes's office, cutting over to the opposite staircase. Which was a mistake, given that the two face-to-face desks right along the railing weren't empty for once.

“Hey,” said Jim, urgently, rising from his seat, catching Edward by the shoulder. “Can I have a word?”

“Don't think so,” said Edward, in a surge of fury-driven confidence. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Listen to me, Ed,” Jim said, hauling Edward closer instead of releasing him. “He's _dangerous_.”

“Maybe to you, Jimbo,” Edward snapped, his eyes drawn to the ungainly movement that was Harvey pushing back his chair and coming to Jim's defense. “In case you hadn't noticed, I have immunity.”

“What the hell are you two carryin' on about?” Harvey demanded under his breath. “Do you realize makin' a scene is the _last_ thing any one of us needs? You tell him our lips are sealed, Ed.”

“Oh, I think he knows they are,” said Edward, cheerfully snide. “Listen, I hate to cut the fun short, but I've really gotta go.” He waved the letter in their faces. “Special delivery for Dr. Thompkins.”

“For the love of God, would you hear some sense,” Jim pleaded, his expression suggesting that he'd correctly inferred the document's purpose. “Not everyone's been kind, but the GCPD needs you.”

“See, I'm not convinced of that,” Edward admitted. “And, well, someone else needs me even more.”

“You're making the biggest mistake of your life,” Jim told him, gesturing angrily. “Mark my words.”

“Are you saying Ed's quitting 'cause he got seduced by Penguin into working for him?” Harvey blurted.

“No, I'm saying Penguin _literally_ seduced him,” Jim replied, covering his mouth in frustration.

Harvey gaped, back and forth between Jim's horror and Edward's smirk until he gave in and shrugged.

“At least Penguin's not gonna be all over you anymore,” he said to Jim, apparently deciding it was best to pretend Edward wasn't there. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go ask Lee to gouge out my eyes, because otherwise I'm never gonna unsee—”

“I wouldn't recommend that,” Edward cut in glibly, continuing down the stairs. “I've got dibs on her.”

Leaving the detectives to their heated, fiercely-whispered argument felt like a second victory. Emboldened, Edward made his way across the floor on the front-entrance side, ignoring Alvarez's second attempt at flagging him down. He crossed in front of the information desk and bypassed Records, quickening his pace down the hall to Lee's office. He could hear movement within.

Latex-gloved, with scalpel in hand, Lee looked relieved to see him. “Ed, thank goodness! You usually make a point of texting when you're going to be late,” she said. “I was starting to worry. You haven't exactly been your chipper self lately, especially yesterday.”

“Apologies,” Edward said, ignoring the corpse between them, offering her the letter. “Deepest.”

Lee set down the scalpel, peeled off her gloves, and took it. She scanned it several times, startled.

“I know things have been hard since Kristen left,” she said quietly. “Ed, is there anything I can do?”

“I wish you all the best, Dr. Thompkins,” said Edward, earnestly, finding that he didn't have to struggle against the vitriol that had driven him until that moment. “Thank you for letting me use your lab.”

“Of course,” Lee said, shaking her head wistfully. “I'm still new here, so it was more yours than mine.”

“About yesterday, the phone-call,” Edward added, realizing he didn't need to feign tears to ensure her sympathy this time. “I've had a dear friend staying at mine, you know, for...emotional support. That's what you overheard. I'm sorry I brushed you off.”

“Take whatever time you need,” Lee said, putting the letter in her lab coat pocket. “I'll see to it Captain Barnes gets this. Ed, you know that if you were to decide you want to come back, I'd make a case.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” Edward said, backing toward the door, “chances are slim to none.”

Lee nodded again, pulling her gloves back on. “Good luck,” she said. “I wish you all the best, too.”

Grateful that she was engrossed in what looked like a complicated autopsy, Edward quietly made his way to his desk in the corner of the second examination room. He collected his scant possessions in the nearest empty file-box he could find, making sure his spare lab coat took up enough room to conceal what he needed to fetch next. He went to the refrigerator and removed the remaining six bottles of liquid cephalexin, and then grabbed another handful of packaged sterile needles just in case.

Nobody tried to stop him as he exited via the nearest set of side doors, not even to bid him farewell.

Edward drove home with the file-box rattling in the back seat, irked once again that his sole mode of transport was more or less ruined. A piece of _evidence_ , no less. It belonged at the bottom of the harbor.

He parked, fetched the box, and left the blanket where it was. If anyone decided to steal the worthless vehicle, he supposed that would take the problem off his hands. Bloodstains were a dime a dozen in Gotham.

“I think I might need a new car,” Edward announced, struggling to slide the door open. He barely avoided dropping the box, which would have been catastrophic given the precious stash of glass-bottled antibiotics.

Oswald sat on the sofa with his feet propped on the coffee table, cradling what was left of Edward's favorite mint-chip ice cream in his lap.

The state of the spoon in the carton, sticky from neck to handle, spoke volumes. Oswald raised the utensil to his lips, delicately licking away a few slivers of chocolate. The coquettishness of his gesture, even coupled with the suggestive tilt of his smile, didn't succeed in hiding the discomfort Edward could read in his posture. He'd suspected Oswald might prove prone to overconsumption under duress.

“Of course,” Oswald said, patting the sofa, waiting patiently as Edward set down the box, shed his coat, and came over to sit beside him. “I'll get you a new one as soon as Gabe fetches my emergency stash and rustles up what a few of the capos owe me,” he continued, offering Edward a bite.

“I know you wanted to go see your mother,” Edward said once he'd swallowed the more-or-less melted mouthful, “but I don't think that's wise given your condition." He took the carton from Oswald, pleased to discover it wasn't as close to gone as he'd feared. Eating half a dozen more bites, ravenous, he realized he'd neglected to make them breakfast before he left. "I need to take your temperature and give you an injection.”

Oswald leaned and kissed him. Edward flushed with relief—glad to be here, glad to be _home_. If ice cream for brunch and mint-flavored kisses were the worst outcome at the midpoint of the first day after they'd unequivocally declared themselves, so be it.

"Don't expect me to play the invalid much longer," warned Oswald, with a tantalizing swipe of his tongue across Edward's lower lip. "I can't have you fussing when Gabe's around. Treating me like your patient stays behind closed doors."

“If you're good, I promise,” Edward said, pressing his palm softly to Oswald's shoulder, “you'll get a better treat than this.”


	2. Chapter 2

_It's like he has a checklist_ , Oswald thought, wincing through the injection's burn into Edward's eagerly-offered mouth, _of everything he's ever wanted to do while patching me up._ Kissing was as far as Oswald cared to go while shots were involved.

“Not so bad now, is it?” Edward asked, withdrawing the needle, setting the syringe aside on the trolley. He scooted back under the covers and lay down, smoothing his hand over Oswald's chest. “Wish I didn't have to bandage you,” he confessed.

“Leave it for a while,” Oswald yawned, overjoyed that Edward no longer had a schedule that tied them to rising early. He sprawled recklessly across Edward, unable to stifle a laugh at Edward's bewildered reaction to having been knocked on his back. “I'd like to feel more of you, too.”

“Your front stitches are scratchy,” Edward muttered, nonetheless letting his fingers creep from Oswald's spine up to the the few sutures he'd used to close the exit wound. “So are these.”

“You're the one who decided to put them there,” Oswald sniffed, kissing Edward's temple. “Isn't there some kind of...glue?” He rested his forehead against Edward's, lost in memory. “My mother cut her finger trying to pry open the frame of an old family tintype with a kitchen knife. I had to hail a cab and take her to the emergency room. It wasn't deep enough for stitches, so that's what they used.”

“Oh,” said Edward, nodding. “Cyanoacrylate. Dermal adhesive. The cut must've had clean edges.”

Oswald closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth that resulted when he pressed his cheek to Edward's.

“Would you say,” he ventured hesitantly, “that my temperature's down enough for an excursion?”

“I know that you'd like to visit your mother's grave,” Edward murmured, frowning at him intently. “It must have been very difficult to learn Gabe had to bury her while you were hiding in the woods.”

“Gabe is a good and loyal friend, if a bit dense,” Oswald replied. “At least she had _someone_.”

“Roll over,” Edward said, helping Oswald shift off him. He threw back the covers, shivering, and pushed his glasses up his nose while he leaned to examine Oswald's shoulder. “Not as swollen.”

Oswald patiently suffered Edward to stick the ancient glass-and-mercury thermometer in his mouth.

“Ninety-nine on the nose,” Edward warned after a few minutes, setting that back on the trolley, too. “I wouldn't risk weather this raw and rainy for long. You'll stay in the car while I get flowers.”

“Stoker's a deserted place these days,” Oswald reasoned, sitting up. “I don't think I'll be recognized.”

“I'll dig out a couple of my old coats and hats,” Edward said. “You're not going out in that purple—”

“I'm not going out in your _tartan_ ,” Oswald corrected, “so you'd better have something plain.”

“Not that I don't wish I could let you wear the fur,” said Edward, wistfully, helping him out of bed.

“No funny business in the shower,” Oswald replied, stronger already, leading Edward by the hand.

Edward was as clever in following Oswald's edict as he was in most things, because Oswald was sure he shouldn't have felt lightheaded from simply being washed. He forced himself to limp out from behind the curtain while Edward fastidiously scrubbed himself down, deciding he couldn't risk the temptation of dropping to his knees. Drying his hair, he just barely made out Edward's sing-song.

_How many miles to Babylon?_  
_Three-score miles and ten._  
_Can I get there by candlelight?_  
_Yes, and back again—_

“If your heels are nimble and your toes are light,” Oswald cut in, giving up on his hair, supposing it would only be hidden beneath one of Edward's hats anyway, “you may get there by candlelight.”

The shower stopped, and Edward, dripping wet with an oversized towel, was behind him in an instant.

“If I didn't love you before, I definitely love you now,” he sighed, wrapping it around both of them.

“If you didn't before, that'd be about as awkward as your claim that you said love is a weakness just to get the knife off me,” Oswald taunted him smugly, studying their joint reflection for the first time. He reminded himself to breathe.

“I've been attracted to you for so long it's embarrassing,” Edward mumbled into Oswald's damp hair.

“Lucky me,” Oswald said, using the ends of the towel to dry Edward's forearms. “Come on. Clothes.”

Fortunately, after their ice-cream binge of the day before, Edward had been adamant about working some kind of DIY stain-removal magic on Oswald's suit. The result was startlingly pristine.

“Semen is easier to clean than, say, red wine,” Edward explained, helping Oswald into his jacket, fiddling with his tie before affixing the pin, “although I've got a neat trick for that, too.”

“Why don't you get us to the florist,” Oswald said, straightening Edward's collar, “and explain it later.”

“Hats!” Edward said, as if he'd just remembered, and dashed to the closet in which he'd stored Leonard.

Oswald spent most of the ride to Blooming Couture upset about having to wear a trilby and a pea coat that hung on him so loosely the sleeves needed rolling. At least both were, miraculously, black.

Edward came out of the shop with a pink-and-white bouquet so ostentatious it obscured his features.

“I told you that you'd be surprised what I can afford,” he said, wrenching open the driver's side door, thrusting the bundle of Bermudas and Stargazers into Oswald's grasp. “Did I get the right ones?”

“Yes on both counts,” Oswald confirmed, plucking at the lilies' elegant gold satin ribbon, “but the true miracle is that you didn't die of shame at being seen wearing a deerstalker in public.”

“Instead of resorting to the cliché of _yes, dear_ ,” Edward said, “I'll pretend I didn't hear that.”

“Apophasis doesn't suit you like riddles,” Oswald grudgingly admitted. “Drive. It's starting to rain.”

“I had a literature professor who called it occupatio, but point taken,” said Edward, starting the car.

They busied themselves on the ride to Stoker Cemetery with arguing over who got to choose the radio station. It was probably for the best that they spent so much time bickering that it never got switched on.

After parking along the shoulder of the path—something of which the groundskeeper would disapprove, but Oswald didn't give a damn—they trudged up the slight, slippery incline dotted with headstones. The rain hadn't worsened, but it was sprinkling enough to make hats useful.

Edward paused with his hands folded in front of him, touchingly deferential. “You should go first.”

Nodding, letting go of Edward’s arm, Oswald approached the pale granite stone with lilies in hand.

“Hello, Mother,” he said, laying the bouquet before her on the damp grass. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for the funeral.” He straightened his posture, beckoning to Edward. “It's a lovely spot, isn't it?”

“There’s none finer,” Edward agreed, leaning close as Oswald slid an arm around him. “You can see the entire city from this hill.” He gestured to the tree. “We’ll benefit from the shade come summer.”

“I wish you could have met her,” Oswald said, accepting the handkerchief Edward offered. “If I’d taken you home, she would’ve fed you everything in sight, she…” He sniffled. “Would’ve loved you.”

“I wasn’t on the best terms with either of my parents,” said Edward, dully, “although I guess you could say I was closest to my mother. It would’ve been…preferable to make the acquaintance of yours.”

“Mother,” Oswald went on, regaining his composure, “this is Edward. He’s come to pay his respects.”

“I’ve seen how much you mean to your son,” Edward said, addressing the stone as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, “and I’m sure he meant as much to you. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

Oswald couldn’t help the bittersweet laugh that escaped him. “She would’ve insisted on the reverse.”

“Why?” Edward asked, brushing tears and raindrops alike off Oswald’s cheeks. “Because you always took such good care of her? Last time I checked, this kind of thing goes both ways.”

Blinking up at him, dazed and grateful, Oswald longed to kiss him. “What kind of thing do you—”

“Hello?” interjected a tentative voice behind Oswald. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

Oswald turned sharply, about to chew the stranger out for having the nerve to interfere, but there was something pleasingly genteel about the way he was dressed. His black wool coat had an enviable cut, and the angle of its lapels accentuated his navy-and-cornflower patterned scarf. Beneath his tan trilby—suddenly, Oswald wasn’t ashamed to be wearing one—his features were soft and sad.

“Oh, not at all,” said Edward. “We were…” He studied the man’s bouquet. “ _Erythronium purpurascens_?”

Oswald stepped protectively between Edward and the interloper. “You’ve brought lilies, I see.”

Hesitantly, the man placed his diminutive bouquet next to theirs. “Her favorite, if memory serves.”

“Purple fawn lilies, really?” Edward whispered to Oswald. “You told me her favorite ones were—”

Indicating to Edward that this wasn't the time to quibble, Oswald took a step closer. “Yes, they were.”

Edward peered over Oswald’s shoulder in an apparent attempt to be helpful. “Did you know her?”

“A long time ago,” sighed the stranger, wistfully. “I found her again only in death, I'm afraid.” He regarded them with perplexed compassion, noticing their bedraggled appearance. He opened his umbrella and handed it to Edward, as if recognizing Oswald was unwell. “I'm Elijah Van Dahl.”

“Edward,” said Edward, cheerfully, shuffling Oswald forward so all three of them were covered by the umbrella. “Edward Nygma. Thanks for sharing your shelter. You can call me Ed.”

Oswald felt the prickle of emotion before he could help it, realizing that Edward's quickly-won trust was a remarkable thing. “Oswald Cobblepot,” he said, instantly regretful when Edward tensed.

“Great,” hissed Edward, between gritted teeth. “Just when I've decided I like the guy, we'll have to—”

Instead of reacting with the horror Edward had expected, Elijah's eyes widened in luminous dismay.

“Cobblepot?” he echoed, eyes darting toward the stone, puzzling it out. “You're related to Gertrud?”

“My mother,” said Oswald, defensively, wondering who the hell this Van Dahl fellow was that he felt he could take such familiar liberties. Perhaps Edward was right; they'd have to kill him if he realized who Oswald was.

However, Elijah's continued lapse into exceedingly obvious tears did little for Oswald's resolve.

“Mother?” he said, subjecting Oswald to more bewildering scrutiny. “You're Gertrud's _son_?”

Before Oswald could demand what the fuck was going on, Edward put the umbrella in Oswald's hands, molded Oswald's fingers around it, and slid a daringly possessive arm around Oswald's waist. His other hand had stolen into his coat pocket, where Oswald knew the switchblade waited.

“Her _only_ son,” Edward said sternly, and Oswald's heart skipped a beat when he heard the _snick_ of the blade opening. “Sir, I'm sorry to have to ask you to leave us in peace, but Oswald is—”

Oswald instinctively clutched Edward's arm to delay him. “How did you know my mother, exactly?”

Elijah, meanwhile, had grown quite agitated. “How old are you?” he demanded in desolate wonder.

“Excuse me?” Oswald replied, nearly as offended at Elijah's presumption as he'd been moments before.

“Mr. Van Dahl, thanks for the umbrella,” Edward said, advancing, “but we _really_ have to go.”

“How old are you?” repeated Elijah, desperately, reaching vaguely for Oswald. “Gertrud left—”

Oswald stepped between Edward and Elijah again, heading off the blow Edward might have dealt.

“Thirty-one,” he huffed impatiently, hoping Edward wouldn't berate him for thwarting an easy kill.

“Thirty-one years ago, yes,” said Elijah, overcome. “That's right. My God, she—she never told me.”

“Oh dear,” Edward muttered, having already reached some conclusion regarding Elijah's implication.

“Told you what?” Oswald asked, only a split-second behind Edward, determined to make Elijah say it.

“That I had a son,” Elijah said, breaking into a tearful, amazed smile. He offered Oswald his hand.

Oswald shook it, folding beneath the strain of his discomfort, the sodden chill, and Elijah's revelation. He pulled Elijah into a stiff embrace, and then released him. He stepped back, tugging Edward under the umbrella. He smacked Edward's pocket, and Edward withdrew his hand.

“You have more than that,” Oswald said, smiling with bold, tentative hope. “Edward is my partner.”

“Then I am truly blessed,” Elijah replied. “A son _and_ son-in-law. When were you married?”

“Oh, we haven't tied the knot yet, so to speak,” Edward gushed, “but we did recently move in together.”

“It's gone very well,” Oswald agreed, suspicious of Elijah's lack of reaction otherwise. “I wish my mother could have met him. Tell me, you've...never heard my name? _Never_ until today?”

“Never anything remotely like it,” said Elijah, somberly. “Not since my beloved Gertrud, of course.” He composed himself and clapped Edward companionably on the shoulder. “You have fine taste, young man. Speaking of which, won't you accompany me home? So much to discuss!”

“Oswald,” said Edward, hesitantly, “didn't you say that one of your—well, that Gabe was visiting?”

“I fear that Ed has it right,” Oswald said, somewhat relieved at the deflection. “We have previous plans with a colleague, and I'm afraid I've been recovering from a cold. What about Sunday?”

Elijah nodded in complete understanding. “Of course,” he said. “I won't inconvenience you, how thoughtless of me.” He removed a card from his pocket, handing it to Oswald. “Two o'clock?”

“Very civilized,” Edward agreed, attempting to steer Oswald away from the grave. “We sleep late.”

“Rascal,” said Elijah, winking at Oswald. “I'll be incredibly grateful of your company. Until then.”

Oswald tried to give back Elijah's umbrella, but he'd already turned on his heel and strolled away.

“Maybe I didn't fall that far from the tree on either count,” he said under his breath. “Oblivious.”

Edward stared at the card, and then whistled. “I've heard the Palisades might as well be an island.”

“This might be a terrible idea,” said Oswald, pocketing the card as Edward directed them to the car.

“Oswald, you have living family,” Edward said, helping him into the passenger side once they reached the grassy embankment's end. “Even I can tell that means the world to you. We should go.”

“Much though it would pain me, your first instinct is a viable back-up. We can kill him if need be.”

“Chances are high that he's so ecstatic to've found you that he doesn't _care_ you're notorious.”

“Mother always said my father died when I was a baby,” Oswald said. “Noble of her to shield us.”

“I would have said _irritating_ , but I'm glad that's how you feel,” said Edward, starting the car.

“Bespoke clothes, upscale address,” Oswald brooded, watching the rain fall harder. “Old aristocracy.”

“Or one of the many Dutch immigrant families that grew wealthy post-Revolution,” Edward mused.

“Let's not think about it now,” Oswald sighed, leaning against the cold glass. “My shoulder hurts.”

On the way home, Edward stopped at a corner market for fresh bread and a block of sharp cheddar. He got Oswald stripped down, wrapped in a robe, and settled in bed before making grilled-cheese sandwiches. He apologized for the canned tomato soup, but Oswald couldn't care less.

“You're good at all the things my mother was good at,” Oswald confessed, sleepy and sated, doing his best to pin Edward to the bed so he wouldn't instantly get up to wash the empty dishes on the nightstand. “But that's not the only reason I'm here with you, so don't look put-out.”

“It's _one_ of the reasons, though?” Edward grumbled halfheartedly, mussing Oswald's hair.

“Well, you're clever,” soothed Oswald, “and handsome, and you agree with me on who needs to die.”

“You're sweeter than you look,” said Edward, and kissed him. “At least to me, and that's what counts.”

“You also have a mouth on you,” Oswald said, letting the robe slip off his shoulder. “In both senses.”

“I come in many shapes and sizes,” Edward replied, idly stroking the hollow of Oswald's throat before tracing up to his chin. “Sometimes, I drip. If you blow me, it feels amazing. What am I?”

“Trick question,” Oswald sneered, catching the upward trajectory of Edward's finger. “A nose.”

“More specifically, your nose,” Edward said, tweaking the tip anyway, “and I find it fascinating.”

“I'm not one of your specimens for study,” Oswald warned, but lost his train of thought when Edward parted his robe the rest of the way and kissed a wet trail down Oswald's chest. “Or, _ah_...”

“You could argue nose, in this case, is a euphemism,” said Edward, too innocently for where his lips had ended up. “Just for the sake of argument, you understand. You love to argue.”

“I love _you_ ,” Oswald panted, lost to the focused, delicate graze of Edward's tongue and teeth.

Afterward, Oswald returned the attention, relieved for Edward's sake that he lasted longer than before.

Dozing in the aftermath with a heavily sleeping Edward tucked against his chest, Oswald jerked awake at a single, forceful knock followed by four shorter blows. He got up and fetched his robe, irate.

As soon as Oswald got the door open, Gabriel looked him up and down in curt, uneasy disapproval.

“Got you the money, boss,” he said, shoving a wheelie suitcase at Oswald. “By the skin of my teeth.”

“I'd appreciate it,” Oswald said tartly, “if you'd keep your opinions on my state of dress to yourself.”

Gabriel took a step forward, glancing over Oswald's shoulder toward the bed. “See, it ain't just you.”

“Back when you referred to Edward as my associate, I thought you were...aware of the arrangement.”

Sighing reluctantly, Gabriel grimaced. “Nobody ever gave you the hormones-make-you-stupid talk, huh?” he asked. “These risks you've been takin' lately. Do I need to list 'em? I don't like—”

“I don't pay you to like who I'm sleeping with,” Oswald snapped, sliding the door shut in his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward adjusted his posture as the tailor examined the sleeve-lengths of his new suit jacket and shirt, tugging approvingly at one after the other. Standing before a full-length mirror, he almost didn’t recognize himself in mossy gabardine. He couldn’t deny that he liked what he saw.

“Perfect. Mr. Cobblepot, you said that you’ll both be wearing these out? I’ll return shortly with yours, one moment,” said the tailor to Oswald, perfunctorily, and left the room. Oswald's fee was obviously the only factor keeping him interested.

“How much did you pay him,” said Edward, in concern, realizing he didn't have the foggiest about Oswald's monetary situation, “to measure us for these yesterday evening and have the work done in time for a Sunday-afternoon fitting?”

Oswald hobbled over from where he’d been sitting to one side, using the umbrella Elijah had given them for support. He fussed with Edward’s lapels, and then unfastened the typewriter key question-mark clip—a startling concession on Oswald’s part, considering that he disliked the accessory—so that he could place it a quarter of an inch higher above Edward’s waistcoat.

“Less than Gabe’s spending to demolish your car and get us a nicer one,” he told Edward, smiling to underscore his tone of slight, winsome warning, “so don’t ask too many questions.”

“You’ll need to let me know the particulars of your finances, Oswald,” Edward cautioned. “We can’t overspend until you’re sure you’ve re-secured the handful of allegiances you might have lost.”

“Are you my fiancé or my accountant?” asked Oswald, patting his cheek. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I’ll trouble myself with whatever details you’re not well enough to take on, Oswald,” Edward said.

Looking uneasy, Oswald switched his focus as the tailor came back. “While I change into that,” he said, indicating the pinstripe ensemble draped over the tailor’s arm, “find Ed a tasteful pair of shoes.”

“But sneakers with formal-wear are trendy,” Edward protested, cowed when the tailor shook his head.

“Not if you’re going to meet your future father-in-law, they’re not,” Oswald said, vanishing behind the partition with the armful of garments he’d just been handed. “Van Dahl’s an impeccable dresser.”

Flushing deeply, Edward sat down while the tailor studied him with what looked like mild sympathy.

“What’s your shoe size?” asked the middle-aged gentleman, kinder now that he’d heard Oswald say _future father-in-law_. “He’s got your best interests at heart. Take it from me.”

“You can put those eccentric things back on as soon as lunch is over, my love,” Oswald said from behind the partition. “There’s no denying you carry them off better than I would.”

“Fine,” Edward huffed, meeting the tailor’s gaze. “Eight and a half to nine, depending on brand. I’m at more like eight and three quarters, but most manufacturers make no allowance for that.”

“Wingtips for Mr. Cobblepot, something sleek and monochrome for you,” said the tailor, and left again.

“You’re lucky I’m tolerating this make-over,” Edward muttered, removing his shoes. “Hair included.”

Oswald emerged, fully dressed except for his stockinged feet. He limped over to stand between Edward’s knees, pressing his cufflinks into Edward’s palm as he leaned forward. Oswald’s warm breath against Edward’s earlobe made Edward shiver and clutch the cufflinks to his chest.

“You look so ravishing in that suit,” Oswald whispered, “that I’m going to peel you out of it later. Piece by piece.” He tapped the back of Edward’s hand straightened again. “Help me with these?”

If the tailor wondered why Edward was pink-cheeked as he attended to Oswald’s cufflinks, he kept it to himself. Both pairs of shoes met Oswald’s standards, so they called Gabriel shortly thereafter.

Their replacement transport was, in Edward’s estimation, a suitable combination of understatement and elegance. Maybe a touch disappointing, given the year-old, glossy black Volkswagen definitely wasn’t a classic American make. He was going to miss his first and only vehicle.

“After you,” Oswald said proudly, holding the back door open for Edward while Gabriel put the garment bags containing their old clothes in the trunk. “Mind what’s on the seat, though.”

Edward’s gloved hand lit instantly on his _RIDL LVR_ plate as he slid to make room for Oswald.

“Gabe kept it,” said Edward, touched, grinning at Oswald as he settled. “Maybe he likes me after all.”

“I told him that if your vanity plate went in the crusher, he wouldn’t be far behind,” Oswald confided.

Gabriel took his place in the driver’s seat a few seconds later, revving the luxurious engine. “Ready?”

“We have forty minutes to get there, so, _yes_ , Gabe,” said Oswald, curtly. “Get a move on!”

“You could be less snappish with him,” Edward said softly, stealing a kiss as the car glided into traffic.

“As it happens, he _doesn’t_ care for you much,” Oswald admitted, “and I haven’t forgiven him.”

“Let him wrangle your book-keeping, boss,” Gabriel cut in casually. “I might just change my mind.”

“See?” Edward said, giving in to a measure of viciously smug satisfaction. “I had a word with him.”

For a split-second, Oswald looked almost frightened before giving in to laugher. “You got me there.”

Edward sat back and enjoyed the scenery for the rest of the trip, resting his chin atop Oswald’s head.

“If you ruined my hair,” Oswald said sitting at attention as their destination loomed ahead, “I’ll…”

“That’s not just a mansion from the look of things,” said Edward, impressed. “That’s an entire estate.”

“Your guess at merchant-adventuring might be right,” Oswald mused. “The construction is…showy.”

“You want I should wait out here with the car while you’re inside eatin’?” Gabriel asked as he slowed for their progress up the long gravel drive. “Or maybe go intimidate a few more deserters?”

“Something tells me Ed and I should go with you to see Nicky and Tommy,” Oswald replied, regarding Edward thoughtfully. “Would you be willing to get…creative, I mean scientifically speaking?”

Edward smiled, mind awhirl with possibilities. “Bet I can torture whatever you want out of _anyone_.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Oswald, his fingers on the door handle as Gabriel parked. “Wait out here.”

“I would advise changing the subject before we go inside,” Edward said. “First impressions.”

“Of course,” Oswald said, getting out of the car. “You’re the gentlest thing. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Unless the fly’s out to hurt you,” Edward said, following, offering Oswald his arm. “Okie-doke…”

Even Oswald seemed intimidated as Edward rang the doorbell. They waited for around a minute until footsteps sounded within, and Elijah—wearing an apron, of all things—ushered them inside.

“Please excuse the delay,” he said warmly, indicating that they should hang their coats and scarves next to the door. “And the way I’m dressed,” he added, removing the apron, folding it over his arm. “I gave Helga the weekend off. There’s no sense in having her around when I’m alone for a few days, not when I had such a fine teacher that I can throw together a light lunch.”

 _Alone for a few days_ , Edward thought, studying their opulent surroundings as Elijah led them back the hall. The room into which they filed was cozy, with a single high window and a tea-table set for three.

Rather than redolent with dust, the air was mellow with jazz and floral with a faint trace of perfume.

“Culinary classes?” ventured Edward, in troubled thought. _At least one other person lives here._

“All will be revealed,” said Elijah, gesturing Edward into the seat nearest to the gramophone. “Sit!”

Oswald took the seat across from Edward, focusing on the empty seat to his left elbow and to Edward’s right.

“You made this?” he asked, pointing to the tureen and basket of freshly-baked bread.

Elijah took them by surprise, crossing to Oswald, tucking Oswald’s napkin into his waistcoat for him.

“Gertrud came to work as a cook for my parents,” he explained, capturing Oswald’s attention as he moved around the table, prompting Edward to tuck his own napkin in place. “She was so young and beautiful, so full of life. _So_ beautiful.” He beamed and picked up the wine decanter, not offended by Edward’s refusal of assistance. “I was young then, too,” he went on, filling Oswald’s glass. “A boy, really,” he added, filling Edward’s glass, but not his own. “A foolish, romantic boy.”

Edward wanted to tell Oswald that, at this rate, he was almost _certainly_ Elijah’s son. Instead, he raised his glass to Oswald, met by Oswald’s mirroring gesture. They drank while Elijah crossed to his own seat, where the tureen waited. He opened it and ladled soup into all three bowls.

“When my parents found out, they forbade us from being together,” Elijah sighed, finally taking his seat between them. “I was the heir to a great fortune, they said, and she was just a cook. I threatened to run away with her, turn my back on my family name and inheritance.” His demeanor struck Edward as simultaneously aggrieved and ashamed, whereas Oswald looked heartbroken. “It was the first and only time I ever stood up to them. They must have known my words were just that,” he said, offering Oswald the breadbasket. “A spoiled child making idle threats.”

Unable to say anything, Edward waited until Oswald had taken some bread, and then did the same. He dipped it in the broth, meeting Oswald’s glassy stare, and took a bite. He detected chicken broth and root vegetables, as well as tarragon—and something with a smoky kick that tickled his throat. Paprika, or perhaps cayenne, was the most likely culprit.

Seemingly reassured by Edward’s approval of what he’d tasted, Oswald took a bite that left him looking even more upset than he had a few seconds before. He brought the napkin up to his face, ineffectually pretending that his lips needed attention instead of his nose.

“The next day, Gertrud was gone,” Elijah lamented, nonetheless managing to look somberly pleased that they were eating what he’d prepared. “My parents told me only that they had come to an arrangement. She would be taken care of, and I must never make an attempt to find her. And, to my shame, I didn't.” He finally succumbed to tears, setting down his spoon. “I let them separate us. I had no idea, she…never told me she was pregnant. She didn't tell me about you. If she had—”

“I’d know this seasoning anywhere,” interrupted Oswald, overcome with tears. “So my mother was the one who taught you how to make this. She told me that my father had died when I was still a baby.”

“Easier than the truth, I suppose,” Elijah said, shrugging sadly. “That your father was a coward who wouldn't stand up to his parents. She must have figured that the two of you would be better off making your own way. Which, in fact, is probably the truth. Look at you. A strong young man,” he added, appealing earnestly to Edward. “She did a good job, didn't she?”

Edward nodded, relieved to be useful, reaching for Oswald’s trembling hand. “I couldn't agree more.”

“She was the best mother I could have asked for,” said Oswald, squeezing Edward’s fingers as he looked to Elijah. “She never denied me anything. I did my best to take care of her once I was old enough to understand that she…” He closed his eyes, squeezing Edward’s hand harder.

“We both miss her terribly,” Elijah said, compassionately clapping Oswald’s injured shoulder. “My poor boy. Thank goodness you've had someone as wonderful as Edward in your life, or you would have been all alone in the world.”

Oswald’s expression suggested a modicum of pain, but he restrained himself, patting Elijah’s hand.

“I was alone until I found Oswald,” Edward volunteered. “We've both…definitely had our struggles.”

“No longer,” Elijah, releasing Oswald's shoulder, reaching to cover their clasped hands with his own. “You have a home and a father—and a family.”

 _Aha_ , Edward thought as Oswald’s eyes narrowed with concern. _The other shoe drops._

“A family?” Oswald asked hesitantly, wiping his cheeks with his napkin in order to mask his alarm.

“A big, happy family,” Elijah replied serenely. “They're going to be so thrilled to meet both of you!”

“Sir, please tell us truthfully,” Edward said, hoping his sarcasm was undetectable, “is this a dream?”

“Not a dream, young man,” Elijah said, clearly charmed. “As far as I'm concerned, you're both home.”

“This family you speak of,” said Oswald, cautiously, “who are they and—and what are they like?”

Edward drummed the fingers of his free hand on the table, impatient for Elijah to get on with his explanation. He had not only a wife, but children or stepchildren. The situation was messy, particularly if Oswald expected to be legally recognized and inherit.

“After Gertrud, I never expected to fall in love again,” Elijah explained, “but when I met Grace, I realized I'd found someone whose grief and hardship were equal to my own. I couldn't bear the thought of her two sweet children, Sasha and Charles, growing up destitute.”

Edward yanked his hand from between Oswald’s and Elijah’s, surreptitiously drying his damp palm.

“Where are they?” he asked, channeling his eager, former GCPD self. “When can we meet them?”

“They’re in the city for the weekend, which is where they go when I insist on some time to myself,” Elijah said. “Usually, I request it so that I can pay my respects to Gertrud and reminisce in peace. My wife, as her name suggests, has been gracious. She knows what it is to lose one's first love.”

 _So do I_ , Edward thought, _even if nothing about the arrangement was ever going to last._

“Do they return this evening,” said Oswald, slowly, and it was a pleasure to watch the gears in his devious mind turn as he took in their surroundings, “or will we have a little more peace and quiet with you? It's just that we have so much lost time to make up for, and I—”

Elijah winked, as if he understood; fortunately, what he grasped was the _wrong_ meaning. 

“They won't return until tomorrow afternoon, so that'll give us more than enough time to get you both settled in and fit you for some formal dinner attire. I want to mark the occasion. What do you say?”

“Settled in?” Edward asked, catching Elijah's hint, abruptly anxious. “We have my apartment, it's—”

“Not in the safest part of town,” Oswald said, tightening his hold on Edward's hand to silence him. “And I lied when I said I was recovering from a cold. Stray bullet, I'm afraid,” he said, indicating his shoulder. “It was the night of Galavan's mayoral gala, right place at the wrong time. If not for Edward's medical expertise, I wouldn't be on the mend. Your offer to take us in is truly gracious, and there's _nothing_ I want more than to keep Edward as safe as he's kept me.”

Edward opened his mouth to protest, belatedly processing Oswald's speech. He realized that the part about his residential location was true, and the part about wanting to keep him safe sounded honest.

“We were discussing a move in the near future, so this helps,” he confessed haltingly. “Thank you.”

Elijah slapped the table in delight. “Then it's settled,” he said, rising, having scarcely touched his soup. “Just give me the address, and I'll see to it your things are brought here immediately.”

“I mean no disrespect, Mr. Van Dahl, but I'd rather be personally involved,” Edward said. “There's our clothing and personal effects, and the artwork and other memorabilia mean a lot to me.”

“You're not overly attached to your kitchen supplies and furniture, are you?” Oswald asked dubiously.

Edward hesitated, thinking. “Well, maybe the antique Singer, but the rest of it, no, not as such—”

“Edward, you know how to _sew_?” Elijah asked admiringly. “You're a man after my own heart.”

“Fine, so we'll leave everything else,” Oswald said reassuringly. “I'll have Gabe get back your rent.”

“I'd feel better if you gave instructions and had him oversee the movers,” Edward replied reluctantly.

“That's your driver waiting outside, isn't it?” Elijah said, setting a reassuring hand on Edward's arm. “Why don't you have a chat with him?”

Giving in was simpler when Edward realized that Oswald's promise that he'd find them a place to go had, almost effortlessly, been fulfilled. He'd prove ungrateful for looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“We're at 805 Grundy,” he replied, deciding he might as well embrace change. “Gabe can let the crew in. The place doesn't look like much, but...”

“It's been home,” said Oswald, with enough ceremony to appease Edward's sense of an ending era.

Once they'd finished eating and explained the plan to Gabriel, Elijah insisted on giving them a tour of the house. Edward had seen local historical societies' premises maintained to _less_ exacting standards, and Elijah's collection of antiques alone was worth six or seven figures.

“Once upon a time, my grandparents occupied this room,” Elijah said, pushing open the first door they encountered upstairs, “and then my parents, and then Grace and myself. Sadly, our sleeping habits and our schedules have fallen out of step with age.” He waved at the next two doors in succession. “I occupy the next, and she's the one after. Sasha and Charles are in the two at the end of the hall.”

 _Separate beds_ , Edward thought, taking in the sight of the master bedroom, instantly covetous of the annexed bathroom and, on Oswald's behalf, the dressing table. _Trouble in paradise?_

“I'll leave you two alone,” Elijah said, hugging Oswald on his way out, “while I make arrangements.”

Oswald closed the door behind him, rounding on Edward in disbelief. “Did...did he just tell us to...”

Edward nodded, leading Oswald over to the bed. He sat down on the edge of it, dizzy with glee.

“It's our room now,” he said giddily, tugging Oswald toward him, “and I could get used to this.”


	4. Chapter 4

Oswald limped from the toilet to the sink, giving his reflection only a cursory glance before washing his hands. He felt hazy; the early-morning chill of the tile beneath his feet was more intense than he'd expected. He dried his hands and pulled the loose dressing gown back around his middle.

Difficult to resist, lingering there in the bathroom doorway, the better to see Edward asleep in the tangled bedclothes. That he sprawled given sufficient space was an endearing discovery. That he was completely naked, too, was just icing.

They hadn't done more than kiss and sleep for a few hours after being left alone the previous afternoon, not least because Oswald knew they'd be summoned for suit measurements and dinner. Edward had fussed through almost every second of Elijah's judicious tape-measure application, hoping his possessions were being handled with care. Oswald had borne it with stoicism, although he'd felt the strain on his injury and hadn't hidden it well—at least not from Edward, who had insisted on acting as support, placing Oswald's hands on his shoulders while Elijah worked.

All through dinner, while Elijah had chattered happily about the tailor he'd called with their specifications, the help had side-eyed Oswald to an uncomfortable degree. Helga looked young enough to keep up with current events, but old enough to exercise caution. She'd murmured something curt to Elijah after serving dessert and swept out, leaving Elijah briefly pale and subdued.

Oswald gripped the door-frame, about to return to bed, as Edward lithely stretched and yawned.

“Are you okay?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, peering at Oswald in concern. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oswald said, affecting a less aggrieved posture, smiling at him, “but I'm enjoying the view.”

Edward propped himself up on one elbow, tugging at the covers, suddenly shy. “Don't tease, Oswald.”

“It's not teasing,” Oswald replied, but remained where he was, “if I intend to do something about it.”

Edward let the covers slip down to his hips, chewing at his lower lip. “Do you take requests?”

Oswald felt himself respond to Edward's direct, flirtatious hint. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can you check the bathroom for, um—” Edward sprawled awkwardly across the mattress, snagging the nightstand drawer and tugging it open, making the objects of his search obvious by implication “—while I have a look in here?”

“Oh,” said Oswald, feeling faint at the suggestion, turning instantly on his heel. “Yes, let me see if...”

While Edward muttered under his breath, Oswald had better luck with the bottom drawer of the caddy next to the ancient free-standing sink. It didn't take much effort to recognize the discreet tube of lubricant, and there were several condoms whose wrappers had accrued light dust.

Edward blinked at the items as Oswald sat down on the edge of the mattress and neatly laid them out.

“If this isn't what you were going for, you should say so,” Oswald said quietly, gathering them up again, thinking he could do worse than stow them in the nightstand. “You _shouldn't_. I mean—it's not a good idea anyway, I have an infection.”

Edward caught Oswald's hands and pulled him into a kiss, scattering the condoms across the sheets.

“No, the other way,” he said breathlessly, fumbling the cap on the lube open. He tested some of it between his fingers, apparently satisfied, and insinuated his fingers beneath Oswald's dressing gown. “I want _you_ to.”

Oswald almost couldn't speak for the feel of Edward's hand on him. “Then we're using one of these,” he insisted, shoving one of the condoms at Edward's chest. “You're always worried about—”

“Wish we didn't have to, but,” said Edward, not finishing the sentence, removing his hand. He stuck the condom between his teeth and stripped Oswald, discarding the dressing gown on the floor. 

Watching him tear it open shouldn't have been as distracting as it was, but Oswald couldn't look away. He shouldn't have been surprised that Edward put it on him in one try, either. No matter how little experience either of them had, it was the kind of thing Edward would have rehearsed.

“Ed,” Oswald sighed, reaching for him, overwhelmed by Edward's singleminded focus. He stroked Oswald as if to learn how the sensation differed from skin on skin, his slippery fingers unsteady. “Are you sure about this?”

“I'll get a towel,” said Edward, red-faced, hastily making for the bathroom. He came back looking chagrined, as if he hadn't puzzled out the logistics thoroughly enough. “Scoot over.”

Once they'd spread the towel—a joint effort, no matter how Edward protested—Oswald settled Edward on his belly and worked one lube-covered hand beneath him. Edward panted into the pillows while Oswald distracted him with what was undoubtedly a cramped, awkward hand job. 

The sheer concentration it took to do that with his left and, well, _this_ with his right, was daunting.

“Two?” Edward asked tersely, his breath cracked and fragile. “Not that I'm surprised, but it hurts.”

“Yes,” Oswald said, easing off on the pressure he'd applied, scissoring his fingers experimentally.

“Just,” Edward huffed, twisting his right arm back to grab Oswald's wrist. “Stop. Just...try it now.”

“Okay,” Oswald agreed, withdrawing his left hand from beneath Edward, reluctant to stop pleasuring him. “Is this the right position, or...” When Edward didn't move, Oswald lay down on his side and coaxed Edward back into his embrace. “Do you want me like this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Edward hissed tugging at the back of Oswald's thigh. “Oswald, I'm— _hurry_.”

 _He really can't get enough of this_ , Oswald thought, positioning himself cautiously, struck by the gravity of Edward shifting position at his slightest bidding. _Of me_. Edward almost ended up flat on his stomach before Oswald managed full penetration. The pain it caused him was clear in the slightest of Edward's exhalations, in the fiercest pinch of his fingertips.

“You're...” Oswald withdrew and pushed in again, shaking, pressed flush with Edward's warm back. “Oh, _love_.”

“Again,” Edward whimpered, hand curling around Oswald's as Oswald slipped it between his thighs.

“My love,” Oswald breathed, rocking into him so gently they scarcely moved. “My dearest Ed.”

“Oswald, I'm not going to...” Edward shoved forward into Oswald's grip, almost disengaging them; he moaned when Oswald thrust into him harder. “Don't think— _oh_ my, right there—don't think I'll last long since you...”

“I want you to come for me. You always—” Oswald gasped feverishly. Any second, _any_ —

Edward sobbed, the taut length of his spine slackening as his release slicked their entwined fingers.

Oswald didn't take his pleasure quietly. With a final shove, teeth sinking into Edward's shoulder, he let himself come. He kissed the spot he'd bitten, self-conscious enough to feel remorse, groaning as delirium washed over him.

Edward clung to Oswald's arm as Oswald's sticky hand came up to press over his heart. “I'd happily die like this,” he sighed. “With you, of course.”

“Nobody's dying,” Oswald mumbled, licking between Edward's shoulder blades. “I'm on the mend.”

“I should find a thermometer,” said Edward, guiltily, seeming too sated to move. “You're burning up.”

Oswald wondered vaguely if the experience had been clouded by raised temperature, but he let the thought go. He withdrew from Edward as carefully as he could, hissing at the discomfort in his leg.

“I'm carrying you to the shower,” Edward informed him, rolling Oswald flat onto his back with a kiss.

The only reason they weren't late to breakfast was Edward's adorably flustered insistence that fooling around in the shower after fucking—he'd barely gotten the word past his lips, and Oswald had kissed him for it—felt gauche. They found their previous day's clothing hung on the bedroom doorknob, clean and neatly pressed. Needing to dress quickly was not an ideal circumstance.

The maid who looked on while Elijah greeted them from the head of the table was _not_ Helga.

“Good morning,” he said to Oswald, indicating that the maid should pull out the chair to his right, and then gestured to the one across from it, which she pulled out for Edward. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” said Edward, distractedly, while Oswald scrutinized the new help. “Is Helga indisposed?”

Elijah sighed, spreading his napkin in his lap while the maid marched out with a glance at Oswald. “There's no use in hiding it,” he said. “Helga resigned last night, so I had to call the agency. It seems she felt another two mouths to feed were a breach of contract, which...I can understand.”

Oswald nodded, watching the maid as she returned with a tray, from which she offloaded a fresh pot of tea and planted it between him and Edward. She filled their cups, set teaspoons on their saucers, and put bowls of fruit in front of them.

“Olga, this is my eldest son, Oswald,” said Elijah, beaming at her, “and his husband-to-be, Edward.”

“ _Vash zavtrak gotov_ ,” she said to Oswald, and then studied Edward. “ _Halyavshchik_ ,” she added brusquely. “Please to meet you.”

“ _Pleased_ , I'm sure,” said Oswald, unable to withhold his disdain. “Does she speak English?”

“I speak enough,” she said before Elijah could respond, took Elijah's empty bowl, and left the room.

Edward looked like he'd been about to speak, possibly speculate on meaning, but Oswald recognized the second phrase from working with Fish's clientèle. It meant _deadbeat_ or _lazy person_. Which one of them she meant, Oswald wasn't sure.

“We mustn't be rude,” Elijah chided gravely. “Your mother was hardly fluent when she started here.”

“Of course,” Oswald said, eyes lowered, catching a hint of approval in Edward's glance. “Forgive me.”

Olga returned with a plate containing an egg-white omelet, hash browns, and what smelled like turkey bacon. She set it in front of Elijah, and then examined Oswald's and Edward's unfinished fruit. 

“ _Zakonchit_ ,” she said. “Finish, and I bring more. Different,” she added, indicating Elijah's plate. She eyed Edward again, noticing his pained expression. “Will help with headache.”

“That's not what it is,” Edward sighed, picking up his fork obediently, “but thanks. Whites for us, too.”

Olga left the room before Oswald could alter the order, and that left Elijah chuckling into his coffee.

“If I didn't know better,” he said while Oswald sugared his tea, “I'd guess you've been together longer.”

“Sometimes it feels like longer,” Oswald agreed dourly, rubbing his toe along Edward's instep under the table. He sipped his tea, surprised to find Olga's heavy Russian hand hadn't over-brewed it.

“Your son's not a morning person,” Edward explained, eating a piece of cantaloupe for every piece of watermelon he picked out and abandoned on his saucer. “Be cheerful at him till he catches on.”

Oswald reached across the table and speared as many of the dripping pieces as his fork would hold.

“Edward has terrible manners,” he said in retaliation. “He thinks chopsticks are for percussion.”

Elijah looked abashedly sorry that Olga had to walk in on them sniping over what Edward should get in exchange for the watermelon he wasn't going to eat anyway, but at least she handed over their plates. Olga was an extremely competent cook, it turned out. Oswald told her as much, and he couldn't discern whether her hum of a response was scornful or approving. Probably both.

Just as Elijah concluded, over additional tea and a tin of biscuits served in the sitting room, that they should be getting on their way to the tailor, the doorbell rang. Olga escorted a flummoxed-looking Gabriel in.

“We got your stuff outside in a truck, Mr. Nygma,” he explained, blinking at the tea service. “Boss.”

“Then bring it inside,” Oswald snapped, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa so Edward could lean into him. He looked to Elijah, remembering himself. “And put it wherever Mr. Van Dahl says.”

“Boss?” Gabriel ventured, shifting his gaze to Elijah. “There's lotsa books and artwork. Records. This big metal filing cabinet we didn't know what to do with. Clothes, personal effects, sewing machine—”

“The clothes and personal effects, I'll have them send up to your room,” Elijah said to Oswald. “The rest, we can store in the servants' quarters. Olga's on her trial period and not using the space.”

“Master bedroom, servants' quarters,” Olga said, indicating that Gabriel should follow her. “I show.”

Gabriel left looking as dazed as he had upon entry, and Oswald couldn't blame him. Olga was sharp.

“Let's take these to the kitchen,” Edward said, picking up their empty teacups, indicating Oswald should follow him. “No no _no_ , stay where you are, Mr. Van Dahl. We'll get yours, too. We're young.”

There was something prickly in Edward's tone, so Oswald made a point of fetching his father's cup and saucer and rushing out of the room after him. Once they were alone, Edward set the china down in the sink, snatched the remaining set from Oswald, and folded his arms across his chest.

“D'you have any idea how obvious you're being?” he demanded. “It's as if you're to the manner born.”

“Well, I _am_ that,” said Oswald, shrugging winsomely. “What good am I if I can't play the part?”

“The part you need to be playing is meek and grateful,” Edward said, unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. He set the third cup and saucer in the sink and turned on the tap. “Remember how to wash dishes?”

Oswald sighed and latched onto the back of Edward's shirt, noticing how tellingly stiff his posture was.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, kissing between Edward's strained shoulder blades. “I hurt you, didn't I?”

“You did what I asked you to do,” Edward said after a few seconds of scrubbing in silence. “I loved it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Oswald reminded him, feeling reckless again, pitched up to that uncertain precipice.

Edward rinsed his hands, dried them on a clean towel, and shut off the water. He turned and took Oswald in his arms, backing him up against the granite center island, which was directly opposite the sink.

“Now that I can see the possibilities,” he murmured in Oswald's ear, “I want this as badly as you do.”

“It's not my father we need to worry about,” Oswald insisted, toying with the soft hair at Edward's nape. “It's the step-family. I want you to watch their every move. You'll catch what I don't.”

“One step ahead of you, Mr. Penguin,” Edward said, planting a sly kiss against Oswald's temple.

“For God's sake, leave the dishes!” Elijah called from the sitting room. “Olga will deal with them!”

“They need to underestimate both of us,” Edward said, “and I'm an expert at letting people do that.”

“I used to be,” Oswald admitted, tempted easily into a kiss. “Coming, Father!” he called breathlessly.

Getting Edward out of the house was expedient for everyone, mostly because he tried to interfere in the moving of his possessions the moment he saw two of Gabriel's hand-picked crew enter the house with armfuls of his clothing. He was surly as Elijah drove them to the tailor, but it wasn't anything some coddling and praise on Oswald's part couldn't fix. Whatever reservations might have remained were entirely obliterated by the sight of himself and Oswald in bespoke black-tie. Edward was so easily flattered it was almost concerning.

“Oh, don't you look handsome,” said Elijah, joining them in front of the mirror. “Grace and the children won't stand a chance against your charms.” He stepped between them and the glass, reaching inside his elegant, understated plaid jacket. “A finishing touch for each of you, I think?”

Oswald took the tie pin Elijah offered him, studying the pearl-dotted flourish. It looked like...

“I'll trade you,” he said, turning to Edward, holding it out. “Something tells me the lapis you're holding goes better with my eyes anyway.”

Edward lit up at the sight, snatching it immediately. He gave the lapis to Oswald without complaint.

“I'm glad you can agree on who gets which of those better than you agree on breakfast,” Elijah said.

A trip to Gotham's most upscale barber, light lunch at the Clermont, and a driving tour of the Palisades later, Elijah pulled over to check his phone. It was coming on early evening, and Edward, even cozy in the back seat with Oswald, was starting to worry about his things again.

“They'll be home when we get there, so we'll start with drinks in the parlor,” said Elijah. “Agreeable?”

“Okie-doke,” said Edward, after a moment's hesitation. “I have every reason to trust your taste in wine.”

“Yes, that's fine,” Oswald assented, mildly impatient. “The kids, as you call them—how old are they?”

“Old enough to drink, if that's your concern,” Elijah chuckled, starting to drive again. “Sasha's twenty-seven, and Charles is twenty-four. We've encouraged them both to take classes at Gotham University, which they do, off and on, but nothing seems to stick. Perhaps we're too indulgent.”

“I never went to college,” Oswald remarked. “I just worked my way to the top in hospitality, let's say.”

Elijah nodded, his affectionate gaze in the rearview mirror edged with something Oswald couldn't read.

“I graduated from Gotham University,” Edward volunteered. “Forensics Major, Chemistry Minor.”

Elijah's eyes, flicking back up to the rearview mirror, were startled. “Are you in law enforcement?”

“Nope,” said Edward, leaning happily into Oswald, “but I was law-enforcement adjacent. I can't say I recommend it.”

“No,” Elijah echoed distantly, seeming relieved, “neither can I. The GCPD certainly has its faults.”

Before Oswald could ask, in confidence, what he meant by that, they were pulling up the long driveway. Thankfully, Gabriel and his crew had cleared out. The truck they'd used to empty Edward's apartment had been replaced by a sleek, compact green sports car Oswald didn't recognize.

Olga saw them inside, taking their coats, hanging them with ceremony. “They wait,” she said, leading them into one of the house's coziest alcoves. “Mrs. Van Dahl,” she said to Grace, and left.

Instinctively, Oswald folded Edward's arm over his own while Elijah stepped forward to greet his wife.

“Darling,” Grace said, patting Elijah's cheek as he bent to kiss her where she sat in the armchair with a glass of champagne already in hand. “You ought to have warned me about the change in staff.”

“Helga resigned quite suddenly,” Elijah replied, shrugging, hoping to get by on charm. “Nothing for it.”

“Olga's been extremely capable so so far, I'll give her that,” said Grace, exchanging glances with the honey-haired young woman in the chair next to hers. “The English needs work,” she whispered.

“Sasha, how good it is to see you,” said Elijah, ignoring Grace's remark, kissing his stepdaughter's cheek. “How was your weekend in the city? Refreshing, I hope? Let's hear about it.”

“We went to the Art Museum,” she said airily, “and then went to some of Mother's favorite galleries.”

“Gallery _stores_ , she means,” said the young man on the sofa, with a hint of tattletale humor.

“Then you must definitely tell me what came of that, Charles,” Elijah sighed, handing him a glass of champagne from the side table, quick to place a glass in Oswald's and Edward's free hands.

“Only these,” said Sasha, showing off the extravagant, yet tasteful multicolor sapphire necklace she wore, and then indicated her mother's black-and-purple rhinestone travesty. “Do you like them?”

“But of course,” Elijah said, fetching a glass for himself that appeared to contain only water. “Only the finest treasures _for_ my treasures, and heaven knows your taste's better than mine.”

“I don't know,” said Charles, with what sounded like genuine naiveté. “They look pretty nice, too.”

It took Edward's subtle flinch, as Charles's eyes swept over Oswald, for Oswald to realize that he was talking about the two of _them_. Oswald tightened his hold on Edward's arm, protectively smug.

“Yes,” said Grace, gesturing with her glass. “Do introduce us to these princelings you found at Stoker.”

“However unbelievable it may seem, and however it may pain me to think on her,” said Elijah, clapping Oswald on the shoulder, “if I hadn't gone to pay my respects to Gertrud, I might never have discovered the truth. This is Oswald Cobblepot. My _son_. And this dashing young man is his fiancé, Edward. Our fortune increases, my dear, as does our family.”

Edward shifted from foot to foot, sheepish, so Oswald decided beaming innocently was his best bet.

“How extraordinary,” said Grace, tone too flat for Oswald's liking, but her smile was outwardly serene.

“It makes sense, after all,” Sasha said to Grace, as if she'd forgotten they had an audience. “I always told you there was something funny about how fast his parents shuffled her off.”

“That's so _neat_ ,” said Charles, brightening the mood, as if mildly ashamed of his sister. He stood up and raised his glass to Elijah, and then to Oswald and Edward. “I've always wanted a—”

“A toast,” Elijah agreed, deftly heading off the impending wreck. He raised his glass to the seated women, who remained stoic in their black evening dresses, until they stood and raised their glasses, too. “I want to thank you all for your generosity. You have welcomed Oswald and Edward into our family with open arms and open hearts. For that, I am truly blessed.”

“To family,” Oswald said, realizing he'd better say something fast, and sound like a complete idiot while saying it, too. “Uh, you guys have made me...the happiest man on the planet,” he concluded, finding he had to look at Edward in order to get the back half of the sentence past his lips. “I am so grateful,” he said, sweeping the room before glancing at his father and Edward. “I love you all.”

Grace leaned in with her glass, eyebrows raised at Edward. “Family,” she echoed with false delight.

“To family,” Edward replied with a clipped nod, offering hasty smiles to Sasha and Charles. “Yes.”

While they all clinked glasses and drank, Oswald was mindful not to release Edward's arm. He knew that Edward's half of the act wasn't as forced as his, that Edward genuinely found it an excruciating situation. What happened next took him by surprise.

Sasha leaned in and kissed each of them, one after the other, on the cheek. She was startlingly tall.

“Brother,” Charles said, leaning in to do the same to Oswald, and then hesitated in front of Edward.

“Sentiment returned,” said Edward, hurriedly, letting go of Oswald to pat Charles on the shoulder.

“Yes, yes,” said Oswald, forcing his smile nearly as hard as Grace was forcing hers. “With that, I think we should adjourn? Olga has dinner waiting.”

Edward squeezed his wrist in warning as they trailed after the others to the opulently-set dining table.

“Too much,” he whispered, masking it as sweet nothings as he bent to kiss Oswald. “You gave an order.”

“I can't help it!” he hissed, returning the kiss for all he was worth. “It's second nature! I give them!”

“Just watch yourself during dinner,” Edward said in his ear, returning Elijah's grin. “I'll get fresh if you do.”

“If I watch myself, or if I give orders?” Oswald grumbled, letting Edward tug him over to their seats. 

There were worse arrangements, Oswald supposed, than being seated on Elijah's left hand and directly across from Charles. Edward, seated across from Sasha, was fastidiously ignoring her.

Grace, from her position at the end of the table farthest from Elijah, had a black Dobermann at her feet.

“Olga,” she called, snapping her fingers in the air, “be a dear and bring out the starters, would you?”

“ _Da_ ,” said Olga, entering with an unimpressed demeanor that impressed Oswald to his core.

Throughout the first three courses, conversation remained banal. Oswald wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the degree to which Edward had succeeded in boring everyone but Elijah and Charles with a string of obscure riddles. If he had more in him, Oswald wouldn't say him nay.

“Last one,” Edward said, rosy-cheeked with wine and satisfaction. “Though I may wander this world far and wide, I am no longer in it. What am I?”

“A shadow,” replied Oswald, thinking he'd solved it, but another answer came to him. “Or a ghost.”

“Isn't he clever?” Edward gushed, abandoning his fork in order to bring Oswald's hand up to his lips.

“I saw one,” said Charles, and the entire table, even Olga with her unobtrusive removals, fell silent.

Oswald gave him a perplexed look, entwining his fingers with Edward's. “After drinking how much?”

“It's true, I swear it,” Charles insisted, overjoyed to have taken Edward's place as center of attention. “Clear as day, a ghost. She was this pale old woman in a long black dress.” He gestured back and forth between himself and Oswald, as if demonstrating distance. “She was this close.”

“What did you do?” asked Oswald, managing a tone of wonder, willing himself to remain polite.

“Oh, I ran away screaming, of course!” said Charles, flippantly, and everyone laughed except Edward.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Oswald?” Grace asked, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, challenging him.

“Maybe,” said Oswald, shrugging as Edward's hold on his hand tightened. “Mother used to tell me stories, and I've seen a few things I can't explain.”

“I've seen some things,” Edward muttered to his plate, “but I can explain them. Ghosts don't exist.”

“Don't be so quick to dismiss the unseen, Edward,” said Elijah. “It's your riddle that got us on the subject, after all. This house has several of them. But don't worry, they're all quite friendly.”

“Don't listen to him,” Grace said, bending to feed the dog a few scraps. “There are no ghosts here.”

“Oh, there's ghosts all right,” Elijah insisted. “This house was built by my grandfather. He died here. His wife and two sisters also passed away upstairs. And my poor, dear parents. Yes, many ghosts.”

“Hmmm,” Grace said, the sound somewhere between noncommittal and amused. She shrugged.

Oswald, despairing of how spooked his step-siblings seemed, finally kissed Edward's hand in turn. 

“How did you meet?” he asked, directing the question at Elijah. He knew his father could deny him nothing, a long-winded explanation of how he'd come to be married to this harridan included.

Edward leaned and nuzzled Oswald's ear, masking it as more affection. “Good. We need more info,” he whispered, noisily kissing Oswald's earlobe; while Sasha looked disgusted, Charles watched in fascination. “I'd be very, _very_ interested to hear about that as well,” he told Grace.

“That's a boring story, really,” Grace demurred, displeased that they were going to get their way.

“No,” scoffed Elijah, jovially. “Let me tell it, dear. After my mother died, I sat alone in this house for months,” he confessed. “Barely got out of bed, in fact. Finally, I found a diner not too far from here. I'd go there every day at the same time, order the same thing.”

“Chicken soup and a seltzer,” Grace said tersely, as if beating him to the punchline were imperative.

“Grace was my waitress, and I grew very fond of her,” Elijah went on. “She told me of her two poor children, Sasha and Charles, and how they suffered at the hands of their abusive father. I had to help. I offered her refuge, and she accepted,” he said, so besotted as he grinned at Grace that Oswald found he could empathize. “And this house heard laughter once again. Then, one thing led to another. Love blossomed. And here we are. But you are my only _true_ blood relative, Oswald.”

Edward angled himself so that he could nuzzle Oswald's ear again, his breath hitching. “A _ha_.”

“That's so incredibly sweet,” Oswald said as sappily as he could manage, turning as if to fondly chide Edward for being such an impatient rascal. “It's just—it reminds me of, you know. _Well_.”

“The story of how Oswald and I met doesn't hold a candle,” Edward improvised, “but it's pretty good.”

“Come now, Edward, I'm sure it's every bit as touching,” Elijah prompted. “Why don't you tell us?”

“If you don't mind,” said Charles, perhaps a touch _too_ earnest this time, “I'm really curious.”

The sound of Sasha's glass shattering in her clenched fist drew everyone's attention away from Edward.

“Oh, my poor dear!" said Elijah, reaching toward her in concern. “Are you hurt at all?”

“I'm fine,” said Sasha, brushing off her palm. “Can someone get help in here to clean this?”

“Clumsy girl,” Grace sighed, laughing it off too quickly. “Olga!” she called. “There's a broken glass!”

“ _Da_ , Mrs. Van Dahl,” she said, bustling in almost instantly with a wet dishcloth. “I listen.”

“I'm tempted to say it was love at first sight,” Edward began, “the day Oswald showed up at my office.”

Oswald sat back in his chair, happily stroking Edward's hand. If nothing else, it'd be worth Grace's ire.


	5. Chapter 5

Even though Oswald tried to resist, insisting that he was feeling well enough to join Elijah and Edward in the drawing room for a drink, Edward escorted Oswald upstairs once they'd all finished their dessert. It took a number of salacious, whispered promises on which he had no intention of following through, especially given that Oswald's cheek beneath the press of his palm was _scorching_.

“Oswald, listen to me,” he said, practically pushing Oswald onto the mattress. “Your fever's back.”

“Maybe that explains why I found your white-lie version of how we met so funny,” Oswald mused, tipsily blinking up at him. The combination of raised temperature and wine was perilous. “I was there to invite your co-worker to a party, and you just couldn't believe someone as _fashionable_ and _striking_ as me would want to talk to _you_?”

“Well, I couldn't,” admitted Edward, cheerfully, wrestling Oswald out of his dinner jacket. “You kept responding even after you dropped a few clues you were annoyed. That's why I didn't lay off.”

“The part where Charles interrupted and asked if we exchanged numbers was the _coup de grâce_ ,” Oswald snickered, flopping back against Edward's chest as Edward undid his bow-tie, untucked his shirt, and unfastened every button in sight. “Did you see the look on Sasha's face?”

“Almost as repressed a case as I was, that one,” Edward muttered in embarrassment. He tipped Oswald back against the pillows and tugged off his trousers, tossing them at the foot of the bed with his jacket, shirt, bow-tie, and cufflinks so that he could get Oswald out of his trousers. “Keep your feet still. I know you find this situation hilarious, but these sock-garters are a _doozy_.”

Oswald stopped kicking in vague time with his laughter, abruptly stilling as Edward removed them.

“If my fever's back,” he said with wide, somber eyes, reminding Edward of nothing so much as the wild, delirious creature he'd found in the woods, “does it mean there's a chance I _am_ dying?”

“No,” said Edward, firmly, leaving him alone on the bed so that he could take Oswald's ensemble over to the dressing-table stool. “It means you've over-exerted yourself, so I'll be keeping your family company on my own tonight. I'll gather some more intel while you get to sleep.”

“My head hurts,” said Oswald, plaintively, causing Edward to rush back to his side. “Everything hurts.”

“I'll get you a high enough dose of codeine to put you to sleep,” Edward said, brushing Oswald's hair back far enough to kiss his forehead. He tucked Oswald under the covers, satisfied that leaving him in nothing but bandages and boxers would be best given his temperature. “And I'm starting you back on the oral antibiotics, but at a _much_ higher dose. Your stomach should be full enough that it won't make you sick.”

“Made me sick before,” Oswald muttered into the pillows while Edward fetched the pills. “Ed?”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Edward soothed, returning to the bed with his rattling handful and a glass of water. “Here,” he said, placing the pills in Oswald's mouth, lifting the glass immediately to his lips. “Yes?”

“I feel terrible,” said Oswald, swallowing obediently, “about what we've done to my father. Do you?”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Edward, setting the glass aside on the nightstand. “We haven't—”

“Hurt him, no,” Oswald sighed, closing his eyes. “Not physically, but we've been plotting against him.”

“Pre-emptively only,” Edward insisted, tucking him back under the covers. “It's a contingency plan.”

“Don't like this,” Oswald murmured drowsily, nuzzling Edward's hand as he drifted off. “Change it.”

Unsettled, Edward kissed Oswald's burning cheek, turned out the bedroom lights, and went downstairs.

Elijah was waiting at the foot of the stairs with a sherry decanter and two glasses in hand. He frowned.

“Where is my son?” he asked. “I was looking forward to sharing drinks over a few games of chess.”

“Oswald's temperature is higher than I'd like,” Edward admitted, “but I'll join you. Oswald's not much of a chess player anyway, not in the literal sense. He'd gripe about not understanding my moves.”

“Perhaps you're right,” said Elijah, amiably, leading Edward into the drawing room with a mischievous jerk of his head. “We haven't had the chance to sit down together, have we? Let's enjoy ourselves.”

Edward found the myriad portraits on the wall in the drawing room distracting, although he couldn't help but enjoy the flames that licked in the grate. Elijah settled him in the armchair on the black-piece side of the chess table, a seeming courtesy. 

“This is an antique set,” said Edward, pensively fingering the stately queen's crown. “Highly stylized.”

“Not the oldest set in this house, but the most visually pleasing,” Elijah replied, setting one of the glasses next to Edward's elbow. He set the other aside, looking up just in time for an intrusion.

“Don't forget to take your medicine, my love,” said Grace, setting a pillbox and glass of water on Elijah's side of the table. “Ten minutes,” she added warningly. “Edward, make sure he does.”

“Don't be absurd, I'll remember,” Elijah, waving his hand. “Give me some time with my son-in-law.”

“Don't stay up all night,” Grace replied mildly, sweeping out of the room as silently as she'd arrived.

“My health forbids me from drinking, but at least I can watch you enjoy this sherry,” Elijah sighed, filling Edward's glass with a concern-inducingly generous amount. “It was my father's favorite.”

Edward took an eager sip, relieved that he no longer had to watch his intake on Oswald's account. The burn of it hit his tongue only briefly, balanced by a dry, exquisite sweetness. He gasped.

“I tasted something like this once. It was when— ” Edward cut himself off, realizing he'd need to moderate his next statement “—when a co-worker left. They brought in a bottle of William Byass for everyone to taste, one of the legendary _añadas_. Is this the '63 or '64?” Distracted, he pointed at the largest of the oval portraits above the fire. “Speaking of your father, is that him?”

Elijah set the decanter aside and strode around to take his seat, his expression immensely pleased.

“This is a much, _much_ older vintage, but you guessed the maker without breaking a sweat. I'm impressed,” he praised, his eyes following Edward's to the painting. “No, that's my great grandfather, Manfred. He started a small tailor's shop in Gotham many, many years ago. Made suits for the city's...elite,” he continued through a moment's hesitation. “My father became an apprentice like every son before him.”

Edward latched onto that peculiar, breath-suspended beat, masking his surprise by taking another sip.

“You were an apprentice, too?” Edward asked, finding his delight was genuine. “Sewing is a useful skill, whether you use it in business or not.” He took a third drink—deeper this time, for courage, because he knew that the extraction of information could prove chancy. “The city's elite? That's a broad category. Any crowd in particular? I do enjoy a piece of historical Gotham gossip.”

“I was,” said Elijah, whimsically proud in a way that reminded Edward of Oswald. “Had rather a flair for it,” he went on, and then heavily sighed. “But it was not to be. When my father succumbed to illness, my mother held me close to her. Home-schooled me. She felt a need to protect me from the temptations of the city, especially in light of my grandfather's and father's...” He took an especially labored breath, shaking his head. “You asked about the family clientèle, Edward, and this is not a secret I often share. I'm going to impart it to you in strictest confidence, because not even Grace and the children know. Can I can trust you to convey it to Oswald?”

Edward couldn't breathe, scarcely believing his turn of fortune. He took another lengthy swallow of sherry, realizing how earnestly Elijah's gaze pierced his regard. In a moment of sobering insight, he could understand why Oswald's mercenary side was steadily giving way to sentiment.

“Yes,” said Edward, with the kind of deliberation he'd learned could pass for full sincerity. “Mr. Van Dahl, you can _absolutely_ count on me. I'd do anything for Oswald, for—for this family."

“Please, Edward,” Elijah said, “I beg you, call me by my first name. Wouldn't you say we're past such formalities, especially given you'll sooner than not be married to my son?” He gazed longingly at Edward's sherry, and gestured for Edward to take another drink. “You'll need it, I think, given what you're about to hear. My bloodline is not as noble as I would have most people think. Much to my mother's shame, we were tailors to the city's underworld. It's why she persuaded my father not to keep the shop open when my grandfather died. She put her foot down, insisting this dirty business would end with him. She'd be damned before she'd see her son a criminal.”

“I see,” Edward said, head spinning as he lowered the glass. “That's a lot to take in. Please continue.”

“If you're judging me, my boy, I'd find it ironic,” Elijah chided, tilting his head appraisingly at Edward. “I get the sense there's a lot you and Oswald haven't told me. Why Helga left in such a hurry after being introduced to the two of you, for instance.”

Edward gave him an imploring look, anxious for a split-second that he'd already failed in his mission.

“This is your story, Elijah,” he said levelly. “I'm not judging you. In fact, I'd like to reassure you it's the contrary. I'm empathizing, insofar as...well, insofar as I _can_. I hesitate to admit that it's something I occasionally find difficult. Go on.”

Relaxing, Elijah fixed him with a sympathetic look. “My son hasn't given you a hard time, has he?”

“No,” Edward reassured him, picking up the black queen. “Not at all. He's been...very supportive.”

“Good,” Elijah sighed, content, and continued. “What my mother didn't know was that my father and I continued to have dealings with the mob for years. I was never sure how we pulled it off, but our services, even once we scaled tailoring back, remained neutral ground. We laundered money, my father and I, for Falcones and Maronis alike. I won't go into the particulars of what methods we used. We even did a little stitchery under the table, so as not to fall out of practice. My father always had a more intimate working relationship with the Falcone family than he had with the Maroni contingent. They were less rash, always more discreet and trustworthy.”

Edward couldn't believe what he was hearing, much less how seamlessly Elijah had played into his trap. He set the queen back down, index finger still poised on the apex of its crown as a sound beyond the latticed wall behind Elijah startled him. He narrowed his eyes, catching a glint of someone else's, keeping his gaze askance so as not to draw attention.

“If you'll excuse me a moment, I need to use—” Edward gestured vaguely in the direction of the nearest bathroom, finding the implication of his lie as awkward as the lie itself “—but I want to reassure you that...” He got up and approached Elijah's side of the table, bending as he lowered his voice; taking a risk in order to expedite confrontation with Grace might work to their advantage. “I'll return trust for trust and share a secret, too. Oswald and I haven't been model citizens ourselves. We've done...untoward things.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Elijah scoffed. “This isn't thirty years ago. I didn't agree with this state's sodomy laws even then! I was glad to see them struck down. My family's always had a progressive streak. Some might say, in doing the trade we did, that we Van Dahls took our reckless spirit too far.” 

Edward lowered his voice to a whisper, listening as soft footfalls retreated down the hall. _Gotcha_.

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he said. “We've done shady things. _Dangerous_ things.”

Elijah shrugged, clapping his arm. “Well, after what I've just told you, rest assured you're not the first.”

“Then believe me when I say that Oswald didn't fall far from the tree,” Edward told him, “and that you ought to be proud of him on that count, too.” He swallowed, inexplicably overcome. “I love your son with all my heart, and he's deserving of your love, too.”

“So much has changed these past weeks,” Elijah murmured wonderingly. “Edward, remind me to call my lawyer tomorrow. I have so much to discuss with him. So many things, _important_ things.”

Edward nodded. “I'm sorry to cut this short, but I really need to...you know, _go_ ,” he said apologetically. “I'll be right back. We have a chess game to start. And remember these.” he added, tapping the pillbox, troubled by a whiff of peppermint as he popped it open and handed it over.

Before Edward could process the visual evidence that suggested its contents were, in fact, nothing more than mints, Elijah downed them and swallowed half the water without complaint. He grinned.

“Mind your bladder,” he said, waving Edward off. “I'll be fine. They're just for the hole in my heart, perfectly manageable. With proper treatment, people survive this condition all the time.”

Edward fled, following Grace at a safe distance. _Atrial Septal Defect_ , he thought. _Damn_. He crept after her until he found himself lingering in the shadows outside the dining space that transitioned seamlessly into the sitting room.

Even as Grace rushed past, Olga continued to clear the last of their dirty dishes from the table. She disregarded Grace as thoroughly as she was ignoring Sasha and Charles, who sat in front of the fire.

“He's decided to call for his lawyer,” Grace announced unhappily to her furtively-whispering children.

“He's going to change his will?” asked Sasha, disbelieving as she turned from her distressed brother.

Charles just folded his arms tightly across his chest, staring in the face of his mother's indignant rage.

 _Aren't you an interesting one_ , Edward thought, tapping his lips. _Unwilling conspirator._

“That's certainly what it sounds like, yes,” said Grace, angrily. “And when he dies, Cobblepot and that—that simpering suck-up of a boyfriend of his will get what's rightfully ours. That man was a shriveled-up wreck when I met him. I made him feel young again.” She poured herself some brandy from a decanter on the sideboard, radiating bitterness. “I brought him back to life, and what have these gutter rodents done? Whined about _wretched_ Gertrud and played dumb.” She took a long drink and lowered her voice as soon as Olga snatched the last dessert plate and butter knife; Edward panicked, realizing the exit path the maid had chosen would bring her directly past him. “After what I just heard Edward tell Elijah, I guarantee you those disgusting lovebirds aren't as innocent as they look.” She rounded on her son, gesturing with her glass. “Charles, darling, since your sister tells me you've been rather useless, you wouldn't mind taking a trip to Gotham Public Library tomorrow and seeing what you might dig up on Oswald Cobblepot and clever little Eddie Nygma, _would_ you?”

If not for Olga marching right up beside him in the shadowed hall, Edward would've seethed at the insult. In spite of the fact that the maid had him backed against the wall with a butter knife at his throat inside a second, what he overheard next nonetheless caught his attention.

“N—No, of course not,” Charles stammered. “They intri— _concern_ me as much as they concern you. Of course. I can look them up while I'm working on my book. First thing in the morning. But they like it here,” he faltered. “How can we persuade them to go?”

“ _Tsishinha_ ,” Olga hissed, tapping Edward's windpipe with the knife. “Hold your mouth!”

 _Tongue_ , Edward wanted to correct her, but he nodded tautly, terrified, and didn't say a word.

“How do you get rid of rats?” asked Grace, slyly, as if prompting her offspring toward a conclusion.

“Glue traps?” asked Charles, quizzically earnest, his tone so laced with dread that Edward pitied him.

“No, silly,” Sasha snapped at him, and Edward would have given anything to scrutinize her expression.

Olga, who had turned her head in order to eavesdrop more efficiently, looked to Edward in challenge.

Charles's response was slow and uncomfortable, but it signaled that he'd understood something. “Oh.”

Olga withdrew the knife, set it on the plate in her other hand, and grabbed Edward's shoulder. She dragged him the rest of the way down the hall until they'd reached the kitchen door. Hustling him inside, she let the door slam behind them. She was out of breath, her composure scattered.

“Listen, Edward, I will be short,” she said. “I know you only one day, but I know them for only _half_ of same day. This is not how good wife and children behave. Like my brother. Many years ago, he left girlfriend and daughter. No help to them, no money, and very little hope. I visit when I can, help to raise the girl, make sure she is strong. She is a woman now. My brother? He was good for nothing. We see this in Grace, _nyet_?"

Edward nodded faintly—relieved, but in shock. “Yes,” he agreed with conviction. “And no, it isn't good.”

Olga nodded, reassured enough to lower her guard. “Sorry I call you lazy, is nothing personal,” she confided with something resembling a smile. “Mr. Van Dahl is kind man, he treat me nice. This other son, not so much. But—” she gave Edward a meaningful look, raising the knife again “—it is this one you love, fierce like blood, and also I think you care about Mr. Van Dahl. The others? They will do a bad thing.”

Edward shook his head, startled, Olga's implication unspeakable until it had taken a moment to sink in.

“I don't think Charles is onboard with his mother and sister,” he protested weakly. “He'll calm them.”

“Not so sure,” chastised Olga, tutting. “I would not take risk. This bad thing, _you_ must stop.”

Edward gulped and nodded, beginning to leave in a hurry. “I'll keep that in mind, Ms.— _Ms._ —”

“Agapova!” Olga called after him. “But you must call me Olga like the rest, _vy menya ponimayete_?”

Edward ducked back through the kitchen door long enough to respond, determined to show deference.

“Ms. Agapova,” he said, saluting, at a loss for whatever other gesture he might make. “ _Olga_. Yes.”

On his way back to rejoin Elijah, Edward took a quick bathroom detour if only because the run-in had taken an _actual_ toll on his system. He washed his hands in haste, returning to the drawing room, where he found Elijah lost in somber thought.

Edward lingered in the doorway, hesitant to shatter Elijah's reverie.

“Goodness, you were gone for a while,” Elijah said in concern. “Here's hoping it did you some good?”

“Plenty,” said Edward, removing his dinner jacket, resuming his seat. “Let's start the game, shall we?”


	6. Chapter 6

Oswald woke to a wash of dappled sunlight and the sound of passing birdsong, harbingers of spring. Beside him, Edward drowsed, the covers kicked down. Before climbing into bed, he'd stripped and put on one of Elijah's dressing gowns. He'd curled in on himself, twisting the fine fabric.

Rolling onto his side, Oswald smoothed the rich, gold-embroidered silk over Edward's hip. Edward's face was half-obscured by the pillow, his hair a wavy mess across his forehead. Oswald ran his fingers through it, wincing at the stiffness and slight pain in his shoulder.

Edward yawned and stretched, his fingers curling around Oswald's wrist, his dark eyes hazy with sleep.

“Good morning, handsome,” Oswald said, throat parched from the medication Edward had given him.

Edward smiled and kissed Oswald's palm, eyes drifting shut again. “G'morning,” he yawned thickly.

“Did you have fun with my father last night?” Oswald prompted, patting his cheek. “Tell me about it.”

Attempting to scoot closer to Oswald and sprawl at the same time didn't work, but Edward tried anyway. He threw one leg across Oswald's, tangling their ankles, and nuzzled Oswald's cheek.

“Played chess,” Edward mumbled, deciding he'd better curl up on his side again so he could wrap an arm around Oswald's waist. “Told me...about his condition, why he can't drink. Atrial Septal Defect, hole...in his heart. Survivable if treated, at least for a while. Not so innocent,” he went on, kissing Oswald's neck with drowsy imprecision. “Grandfather had a tailor's shop, trained his father, and...his father trained him.” He went still, kissing the spot again. “He told me a secret. They were tailors to the underworld. Maronis, Falcones, everyone—but _especially_ Falcones. They laundered mob money, even. When his father got sick and died, his mother forbade him from continuing.”

“You discovered how a family of middle-class tradesmen amassed their fortune,” Oswald said, awed in spite of the fact that he felt worryingly feverish. He pressed Edward to lie on his back, ignoring the discomfort in his shoulder, and parted the silk dressing gown so he could stroke Edward's chest and lavish attention between his legs. “Clever thing,” he praised.

Edward trembled beneath each touch and clutched at Oswald's thigh, not fully awake.

“ _Oh_ my,” he breathed, eyes open wide. “That wasn't all, Oswald. I caught Grace eavesdropping on us, so I—made an excuse, said I was—oh _dear_ , said I needed the—bathroom.” He swallowed hard, pushing up into Oswald's grasp. “She and Sasha are plotting. They're going to send Charles to the library today, make— _make_ him, um—do research. And I'm afraid she wants us dead.”

“I think,” Oswald said, rolling away to pick through the bedside drawer until he'd come up with the lubricant and a condom, “you deserve something special this morning. How's that?”

“But they want us dead,” Edward panted, blinking at the ceiling while Oswald shed his boxers and opened the condom. “We're going to have to _do_ something.”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Oswald said, warming a small amount of lubricant in his hand. He kissed Edward while he finished stroking him to full hardness, rewarded him with a tongue-swipe to each nipple before rolling the condom onto him the way Edward had done to Oswald the day before. “I know.”

“I don't think you're listening to me,” Edward whimpered, trembling while Oswald stroked more lubricant over the condom to get him used to the feel of it. “Oswald, what...”

“We'll have to do something about it,” Oswald agreed, kissing Edward hungrily, distracting him from the tricky task to which he'd turned his right hand. He'd penetrated himself enough times with his fingers, several at once, to know he wouldn't mind the pain. “But not right now,” he gasped, giving himself one last stab, two knuckles deep, before wiping his hand on the sheets. “Sit up.”

Doing as he was told, Edward assessed the situation as thoroughly as desire would permit. He stared at Oswald in disbelief, wordlessly compliant while Oswald shoved both pillows behind him.

“You're going to hurt yourself,” he managed, nonetheless taking hold of Oswald's hips while Oswald shifted to straddle him. “Your leg, and. _And_. You still have a temperature.”

“I want this very much,” Oswald told Edward, reaching behind himself to guide Edward into position. He leaned forward and bit Edward's earlobe, breathing against it. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Edward whispered, his hold on Oswald's hips tightening. “I wish I'd known you— _yes_.”

“Stop wishing and know,” Oswald said through gritted teeth, using his weight as leverage to sink just the tip of Edward's erection inside him, “that I want so— _oh_ , much—more than we've tried.”

“Never been fucked, at least not until you did it,” said Edward, his flush deepening, eyes glassy as Oswald sank almost fully onto him. “Or—or fucked anyone before. _So_ ,” he whimpered.

Dizzily, Oswald adjusted to the intrusion. He let his forehead rest against Edward's shoulder, breathing in shakily when Edward let go of Oswald's left hip and stroked Oswald's erection instead. He squirmed in Edward's lap, moaning low and urgent when Edward involuntarily jerked his hips.

“Having you...inside me, it's...” Oswald couldn't find words, so he lifted his chin and kissed Edward instead. He guided Edward's hand on him, chasing the sensation to its peak. “Oh. Oh, _Ed_.”

Holding onto Oswald tightly, Edward pushed up with a surprised sob, coming before he could help it.

“I won't screw up next time,” he mumbled, once Oswald had wobbled sideways against the rucked covers and he'd chased Oswald's heartbeat to press his cheek against it. “I promise.”

“You're not the one who went off first,” sighed Oswald, ruffling Edward's hair. He couldn't bring himself to sound irritated—not even with the mess, _especially_ not with Edward clinging to him and pressing kiss after kiss to his breastbone in breathless devotion.

Edward's mobile phone went off on the nightstand, startling them both into chagrined, frozen silence.

“That's probably Gabe,” Edward said tersely, disentangling himself from Oswald, “but I should answer in case.” He made a face at the state of his belly and the dressing gown, grabbing the phone. “Hello?”

Oswald waited while Edward and Gabriel traded banalities, and then sucked in his breath when Edward finally held the device up to Oswald's ear. “It's early for this, don't you think?” he scolded.

“Got us the back-up we've been needin', boss,” said Gabriel. “Docklands can't wait. I'm outside.”

“Fine. Twenty minutes,” Oswald sneered, dropping the phone on the floor. “My darling, I'm sorry.”

“Let's shower,” Edward said, won over by Oswald's endearment. “I'll help you get dressed so you can go out and see what's the matter. I'll join your father at breakfast. Keep him company.”

Rather than a full breakfast, Olga had left a tea tray and an array of baked goods on the dining table. 

Elijah had already helped himself to Earl Grey and a croissant. He was perched on the sofa with that morning's paper and a deck of cards in plain sight on the coffee table.

Edward hustled Oswald out the front door, presumably rushing back before Elijah could take notice.

As Oswald approached the Volkswagen, Gabriel rolled down the window. “Got time for a chat?”

Victor Zsasz leaned forward from where he sat in the back seat between two of his crew, waving.

“Hiya, chief,” he said. “Long time no see. Nice place you got here. Status of previous inhabitants?”

“Not quite gone,” said Oswald, swaying as his shoulder began to throb. “Gabe, what's this about?”

“Nicky and Tommy are threatenin' to cause trouble unless you prove you're alive. Get in the car.”

Oswald removed Edward's green gloves from his coat pocket and put them on. “Reasonable request.”

“Sure you ain't still trippin' on Nygma's drugs, boss?” Gabriel asked. “Don't like it when you say that.”

“Nygma as in Edward?” asked Victor, with interest, leaning forward again. “Former GCPD. Quit?”

“And here I thought Gabe might've filled you in on the situation,” said Oswald, tetchily, startled into glancing over his shoulder as Grace's sports car whizzed by them. “Wait. We have a problem.”

Grace parked close to the garage and got out of the car, followed by Sasha, who'd been in the passenger seat. They regarded Oswald with reproach as they made their way to the front door.

Lagging behind, Charles waved a newspaper at Oswald with urgency, and then dashed after his sister.

“I'll be right back,” Oswald said, removing Edward's gloves, stuffing them back in his coat pockets. He hobbled back inside, feeling somewhat faint, and hung his coat next to the door.

Increasing his speed meant reaching the dining table just as Grace and her children paused beyond it. 

The four of them stared at Elijah and Edward, who were seated on the sofa and playing a lively game of cards on the sitting-room coffee table. Edward was watching Elijah's every move.

“Love, what are you playing?” Oswald asked, passing Charles and Grace to sit down beside Edward.

Edward shushed him as Elijah deliberated, drawing a _hmph_ from Olga as she cleared the table.

“Gin!” Elijah announced, making his play in triumph that, Oswald felt, was overblown for Rummy.

“Well, darn,” Edward said, tossing down his cards, sounding more amiably resigned than anything.

Grace's sudden movement, a flash of black and red lace, drew Oswald's attention. She snatched the newspaper from her son's hand and held it, fingers clenched in fury at her side.

“Elijah, brace yourself,” she said, glancing at Sasha to her right. “I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

Elijah exchanged quizzical, nonplussed glances with Edward before frowning at Grace. “Oh dear.”

Oswald sought clarification from Charles, whose expression was fixed—a nervously impassive mask.

“Charles was at the public library bright and early this morning,” Grace announced, prompting him.

Charles, dressed in a black ensemble entirely too formal for where he'd been, nodded hesitantly.

“Research for the novel I'm writing,” he explained, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I was reading some old newspapers, and I made an alarming discovery.” Behind him, Olga passed with the tea tray in hand, muttering something incomprehensible in Russian.

Elijah looked from Grace to Charles. Oswald couldn't help but notice that he almost seemed bored.

“My dear, Oswald is not the nice young man he says he is,” said Grace, gravely, turning a pitying, yet disingenuous eye on Edward. “And it would seem he's fooled you as thoroughly as he fooled us.”

Oswald spurred his tongue into motion, finding it difficult against the backdrop of fever-haze and the knowledge that Gabriel and Victor were waiting for him outside. “What's the meaning of this?”

Edward, on the other hand, was glaring at Grace from beneath tellingly hooded eyes. “Oh? Try me.”

“If we didn't lead such sheltered lives here,” Grace forged on, more sanctimonious than ever, “we would know what the whole world knows. He's a notorious criminal. We've been sheltering—” she unfurled the issue of _Gotham Gazette_ with its _PENGUIN BUSTED!_ headline “—a killer.”

While Olga swept back in from the kitchen with a dishrag, Edward offered Grace his politest smirk.

“I already know about Oswald's past,” he said. “Maybe if you'd give him the chance to explain...”

Oswald felt his pulse stutter, seeking Elijah's gaze. While he knew that Edward had likely hinted in confidence that their history wasn't exactly pristine, he likely hadn't attempted full disclosure.

“We could've all been raped and murdered in our beds!” Grace raged, thrusting the paper at Elijah.

“Raped _and_ murdered,” Sasha echoed for emphasis, and Oswald longed to strangle her.

Elijah took the paper, scanning the front page. “They call you the Penguin?” he asked levelly.

Oswald struggled to rise, weak with fever and the sweet, sharp twinge that Edward had left him. Noticing Oswald's difficulty, Edward rose, supporting Oswald with a protective arm around his waist.

“To be fair,” Oswald said with conviction, but otherwise at a distinct loss, “I never raped anybody.”

“If you want a point of reference,” Edward offered, a hint of cattiness underlying his feigned overly-literal air, “as the only person he's ever slept with? I can attest to that.”

“Oh, well,” Grace scoffed. “That's a mercy, now, isn't it? I couldn't care less about your sordid, pathetic sex life, Edward, except to inform you that you've been sleeping with a monster.”

In that moment, Oswald couldn't help but look to Charles. And what he saw in the young man's expression, for a split-second of empathetic memory, was heartbreaking.

Elijah got to his feet with the paper in hand. “My son told me about his past,” he said, his expression softening as he turned to Oswald. “He just didn't tell me how famous he was. You're too modest, son.”

Edward was beaming, but all Oswald could think was that this was some outlandish fever-dream.

“Elijah!” Grace shouted. “A violent criminal and his liar of an accomplice—in our _house_?”

Meanwhile, Oswald had shifted his focus to Charles again. The young man was glancing back and forth between Elijah and Grace, his expression one of inexpressible pain.

“Grace, relax,” said Elijah, with a hint of command. “He's changed. Redeemed.” He turned to Oswald and Edward, giving each of them the same loaded look. “You're not this man anymore, are you?”

Tremulously, Oswald inhaled. Failing the acting skills he'd designed for surviving the time he'd spent pitting Salvatore Maroni against Carmine Falcone, sickly disorientation would have to suffice.

“No, sir,” Oswald said, startled to realize he was already in tears. “Please, there's a reason for...” He clutched Edward's hand to his chest, grounding himself. “If you really are my father, then I beg you—don't turn me in. Ever since the night of Galavan's mayoral gala, I...” He gasped at a stab of pain in his shoulder, clutching at it, which earned him a devastated reaction from Elijah and instant fussing from Edward. “There was a sniper on the roof. In the confusion, I took a bullet and fled to the woods. Edward hid me while I was wounded and delirious. He gave me medical attention. Please don't report us. He risked his job and his good name to save my life. The last thing I want is to ruin _his_.”

The astonishment with which Elijah regarded Edward made Oswald realize he'd never heard that detail.

“Selfless of you,” Elijah said admiringly to Edward. “Young man, what _is_ your profession?”

Edward, busy clutching Oswald to his chest and running his fingers over the back of Oswald's shoulder, looked up. “Until recently, I worked for the GCPD Forensics Department,” he said. “You might say I left it for love, at least in part. I'm also far better suited to Oswald's line of—”

Oswald cut him off with a cough. “All I want is a fresh start. For Edward _and_ for myself.”

“But how do you know?” Grace demanded. “How do you know he's not still this— _Penguin_?”

“Haven't you been listening?” Elijah chided. “I've looked into his soul, and so has Edward. We've seen his beautiful heart. Even criminals deserve a second chance, wouldn't you agree?”

Grace shook her head and stalked out, followed closely by Sasha. Watching their progress, Olga shrugged and went on scrubbing at the table, but not before side-eyeing Edward.

Torn between hesitation and flight, Charles took a few steps and turned back, silently questioning.

“The dapper gangland kingpin?” Elijah read out with a grin, gesturing at the _Gazette_. “Hah!”

Edward hugged Oswald to him even more closely. “Isn't he? Valerie Vale sure has a way with words.”

“He _really_ is—no, I mean,” Charles stammered awkwardly, “she really does!” He fled in terror.

As their shared laughter died down, Elijah sighed. “Son, I've been worried about that one, but I haven't known where to start. He clearly can't open up to his mother or Sasha. Why don't you have a word?”

“Of course,” said Oswald, dazedly. “As soon as I find a moment. Gabe's still outside, so I'd better...”

“You need to attend to business,” said Elijah. “I understand. Just...see to it you're discreet, do you hear?”

“Ed,” Oswald began, remembering what Edward had said earlier about the looming risk of foul play.

“I'll keep Elijah company. I promise,” Edward said, understanding. “Won't let him out of my sight.”

Oswald let Edward pull him close for a kiss, feeling a swell of pride so fierce it transcended certainty.

“We have back-up,” he said quietly, brushing Edward's cheek. “Zsasz contingent. I won't be long.”

Letting go with reluctance, Edward turned back to Elijah. “Two games down. I can still beat you.”

As Oswald exited the house, fetching his coat in a rush, he heard Elijah say, “I'd like to see you try.”

“That took a while,” Gabriel remarked as Oswald got in the passenger seat. “Trouble with the wife?”

“And the daughter,” Oswald remarked, raising his eyebrows at Zsasz in the rearview mirror. “Drive.”

“So you got engaged without telling the gang?” Zsasz asked wryly. “I love a wedding, you know me.”

“Rings have yet to be acquired,” replied Oswald, with acerbic satisfaction, “but yes. Date TBA.”

“Will you let your old man live to see it?” Zsasz pressed on. “That's just courtesy. I can off him after.”

“Gabe, are we paying him for his conversation or for his marksmanship?” Oswald asked disdainfully.

Zsasz put both of his gloved hands in the air and didn't say another word until they'd reached the docks.

Six underlings gunned down and several sincerely-meant threats to Nicky the Nail and Tommy Bones later, Oswald left his re-acquired capos with an extra warning. _Insult my consort, and you die._

To show his appreciation for the reinforcement, Oswald treated Gabriel, Zsasz, and the two henchwomen to a lavish Italian lunch. While Zsasz and his crew, with Oswald's money and guns in hand, settled their bill with the terrified proprietor, Gabriel and Oswald returned to the car.

On dropping him off at the mansion, Gabriel fetched something from the trunk and gave it to Oswald.

“From an admirer,” he said, indicating that Oswald should test the ebony cane's penguin-head handle.

Oswald's sense of insult vanished as the vicious steel dagger slid free. He re-sheathed it, grinning.

“Sometimes, Gabe,” he said, glad of the cane's support as dizziness overtook him, “you are sharp.”

As Gabe drove away, Oswald approached the front door and found it open. He hung his coat just as he had earlier, determined to ignore questions about the cane unless they came from Edward or Elijah.

In the sitting room, where Olga was busy dusting portraits and every trinket within reach, Edward and Elijah occupied the two armchairs. They were bent head to head over the low side-table between them, where Elijah had propped a velvet-covered photo album. He was pointing something out to Edward.

“My dear mother,” Elijah said fondly, so Oswald hastened to Edward's side. “She was so young.”

“It's an arresting photograph,” replied Edward. “I can see why you've taken pains to preserve it.”

“She was beautiful,” Oswald agreed, studying the pale, black-haired woman. “You have her eyes.”

“And you have _your_ mother's,” Elijah countered, pleased to see him return, “with her vivacity to boot. I'm sure Edward can speak to those charms.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Edward, in that near-girlish manner that had captured Oswald's attention on his first evening in Edward's care. He tapped the cane, tugging Oswald into his lap. “Gabe followed my instructions to the letter, I see.” He lowered his voice. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Elijah clucked his tongue in mock-scolding as they kissed; meanwhile, Oswald heard someone enter.

Grace set the sherry decanter and two glasses down on the table. “Oswald,” she said sweetly. “Ed.”

“Thank you so much, Grace,” said Edward, his eyes fixed on the decanter with alarmed fascination.

Oswald tried to kiss Edward again, but Edward had latched his attention onto Elijah, who had risen.

“I lied to you, Edward,” said Elijah, in an attitude of intense, rueful apology. “I lied to you both.”

“Oh?” asked Oswald, confused, letting his head drop to Edward's shoulder as he felt faint again.

“My father was never physically ill,” said Elijah, in agony. “He only suffered a deep melancholy. He was plagued by dark impulses and thoughts of violence. Mother said many in his family had the same affliction.” He paused, descending into reminiscence. “I remember the sound of the gunshot. I was outside his room, the room you and Edward share even now. I screamed for my mother to get the key. I saw the warm gun in his hand. The blood. His face,” he went on, inhaling bitterly. “Mother said never to talk about it. For years after the funeral, we never left the house. I don't pretend to understand my father's torment, but I think perhaps you do. I feel for you, and I beg of you, my son, never to give in to the pain as he did. You are loved, you are not alone, and the sun _will_ come up tomorrow.”

Overcome, Oswald nodded, disarmed once and for all by this improbable man. “Thank you, Father.”

“Now,” concluded Elijah, exhaling unsteadily as he smiled at Oswald and Edward, “I feel like a drink.”

“But—your health?” Oswald protested, reclaiming his cane, rising. “Edward tells me you shouldn't.”

Hastily, Edward opened the decanter. As his nostrils flared slightly, he glanced at Oswald in alarm.

“This...isn't the same quality as last night,” he told Elijah. “Something smells off. I think it's corked.”

“Nonsense,” said Elijah, snatching one of the glasses, filling it. “It smells fine to me,” he added, but turned pensive. “As for what my doctor says, to hell with that.” He raised the glass, practically glowing. “To my son and son-in-law-to-be! May you always—”

Olga, who had been dusting the wall directly behind them, stumbled into the back of Elijah's chair with such force that it rocked him forward. With a startled shout, he dropped the glass on the carpet.

As if drawn by the noise—no, too quickly, as if he'd begun to run seconds before—Charles rushed in.

“Please don't tell me he drank it,” Charles panted. “I thought I could get here in time when I realized the decanter was gone from the drawing room, I—” He seethed. “Mother and Sasha. It's poisoned.”

Grace and her daughter, as it turned out, weren't far behind their tattletale of a coerced accomplice.

Steadying himself with the cane, Oswald watched in wonder as Olga grabbed Sasha by the wrists.

Taking his cue from Olga, Edward restrained Charles, realizing the young man likely wouldn't fight.

Elijah, frozen where he sat on the edge of the chair, stared as Grace approached Oswald in supplication.

“Traitor!” Sasha shrieked, struggling against Olga's iron-clad grasp. “You fucking sneaky little—”

“I must apologize for my son's actions,” said Grace, seemingly distraught. “He's been jealous of you ever since you and Edward arrived, perhaps rightly so, but I am _appalled_ —”

Oswald closed the few paces between them, loosening the cane's handle with a flick of his right wrist.

“As am I, Grace,” he said with a touch of dazed whimsy, plunging the dagger in her neck. “As am I.”

While Sasha screamed and screamed, Olga clapped a disapproving hand over her painted mouth.

Out of apparent pity, Edward let Charles collapse in the chair he'd formerly occupied. Calmly, he fetched the glass from the carpet, refilled it, and carried it around to Olga and Sasha.

Numbly, Oswald realized that Elijah hadn't moved a muscle. His eyes were fixed on his wife's motionless form, transfixed as she bled out on the expensive carpet.

Edward sloshed the glass in Sasha's face. “Here's yet some liquor left,” he said cheerfully. “Do you recognize the quote? No?” He tutted at her. “Sister-in-law, won't you join our toast?”

Sasha bit Olga's finger, causing the startled maid's formidable grasp to slip down to her fragile neck.

“You,” she spat at Edward, eyeing the glass with tearful reproach, “are _not_ my family.”

“See, here's the thing,” said Oswald, conversationally, turning to face her. “You either drink, or you get to match your mother. And you both look so _fetching_ in red. Decisions, decisions.”

“Charles,” Sasha sobbed, kicking his chair. “Charles, for the love of God, why are you just sitting—”

Charles stared pleadingly between Elijah's blank expression and his mother's cooling body on the floor.

“I didn't want to do this,” he said at length, addressing Grace in shell-shocked desperation. “I didn't.”

“I don't think your brother's in the mood,” Edward said impatiently to Sasha. “Anyway, what'll it be?”

Oswald smiled Edward, struggling out of his jacket, feeling overheated. He nodded sternly at Sasha.

The young woman closed her eyes haughtily on tears. “Tell the gorilla to let go. Give me the glass.”

“Olga, be a dear and don't move,” said Oswald, through a woozy flare of rage. “Hold her hands down at her sides. Yes, just like that. Now, Edward, why don't _you_ be a dear—” he gestured to the glass in Edward's hand “—and help Sasha? We wouldn't want her to regret missing the occasion.”

Edward raised the glass to Sasha's parted lips. “Your mother did love him, right?” he asked, forcing her to finish the sherry in three swallows. “If so, I think this'll be quick.”

“Burn in hell,” Sasha choked, coughing with whatever swift-acting toxin was in the dry dessert wine.

Olga moved past Edward, dragging Sasha along, businesslike. “I take her outside. Will make mess.”

Charles was staring at Grace, expression flat. “Mother already made one. What do we tell the police?”

Oswald clapped him on the shoulder. “You're a writer,” he said. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Edward strolled around to join Oswald, waving the glass warningly in Charles's face. “He has a point.”

“Gabe can help us with this,” Oswald told Edward, satisfied. “Just like he's done a thousand times.”

Olga came back inside, wiping her hands on her apron. “I leave her in the garden. What is next?”

Elijah stood stiffly, taking them all by surprise. He approached Oswald and, resolutely, took the dagger away from him. He bent with an effort and fetched the larger piece of the cane.

“As deeply as it grieves me,” he said slowly, “I found it necessary to kill my wife in self defense. It was brave of you, Charles, to let us know how your mother tested the poison on your poor sister and then threatened you with the same fate if you didn't comply.” He dropped both pieces of the cane on the floor next to Grace's body, and then went to Edward and took the cup. “When I refused to drink, she tried to force it down my throat. Thank goodness my son's cane was close at hand.”

“There's still the part where you're a fugitive,” Charles said to Oswald. “They'll try to arrest you.”

“I don't know about _that_ ,” Edward said, addressing the frightened young man. “Charles, call this in. Request the GCPD's finest, by which you mean Detectives Gordon and Bullock.”

Oswald swayed, reaching for something, _anything_ to steady himself. “Edward, what are you—”

Edward caught him, stroking Oswald's cheek. “Blackmail leverage,” he said. “We have it, remember?” He kissed Oswald softly, chastely on the mouth, and then pressed his lips to Oswald's forehead. “Letting you run around has been a mistake. You're going to bed. Now.”

Oswald melted against Edward, relieved not to be in charge for once. “I'd...prefer not to face them if...”

“You may be a wanted man, but you're injured,” Edward said. “They know that. _Jim_ knows that.”

“I hope this will work as well as you think,” Oswald mumbled into Edward's floral-scented lapel.

Elijah nodded in agreement. “Edward, take him upstairs,” he said. “Stay until I call for you. While we wait for the police, I'm going to have a talk with Charles. I don't...” He lowered his voice, stepping closer while Charles spoke wanly into the phone. “I don't think we can let him stay, but I beg you to spare him. I adopted Grace's children. In the eyes of the law, Charles is also my son.”

Oswald waved his hand vaguely, eyes shut tight, his head swimming. “Yes, yes, we'll...find him something to do, I'm sure. Victor has...connections. And knows a lot of amoral young men.”

“This is for discussion once you've recovered, but I've been thinking,” said Elijah, soothingly rubbing Oswald's shoulder. “Your business model could use a veneer of respectability. I can help with that.”

Oswald could hear the frown in Edward's voice as Edward turned him around and steered them out.

“I'm not sure that tailoring has the same potential it used to as a front for...well, what Oswald does.”

“What about a nightclub?” Charles asked. “The newspapers said he took over Fish Mooney's place.”

“Like Charles says,” Elijah continued, trailing after them, “I'm given to understand that he has significant past experience in hospitality. Or would that be entertainment? Let's call it a bit of both. And your taste in wine, Edward,” he said persuasively, “is spectacular. Gertrud and I always said that if we'd lived a century earlier, we would've opened a speakeasy. Just think of the possibilities.”

“I've thought of all that,” Oswald volunteered as Edward helped him hobble upstairs. “We'll talk.”

In the bedroom, there was nothing but blessed quiet. None of Elijah's ghosts, and none of Oswald's, either. Oswald lay boneless as Edward removed his clothing one article at a time.

Edward checked Oswald's bandages, took Oswald's temperature, and gave him some more antibiotics and codeine with water from the nightstand. He massaged Oswald's leg until the seized-up muscles went slack, and then swaddled Oswald in a pair of soft midnight blue pajamas.

“Don't go,” Oswald muttered into the pillow, realizing that Edward had only bent to remove his shoes.

Edward climbed onto the bed and tugged up the covers, letting Oswald throw an arm across his lap.

“I won't,” he said, rubbing Oswald's back with the same serene, complete reassurance that Elijah had.

After a while, Oswald didn't know how long, a knock at the door woke him. Edward asked who it was.

“Visitor for Mr. Kapelput,” said Olga, her accent heavy with curt disapproval. “Should I let inside?”

“Why, hello there, Jimbo,” Edward greeted as Oswald drifted off again. “What a splendid surprise.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Amoral Young Men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630461) by [raven_aorla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla)




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